


The Fox Hunt

by Rap541



Series: The Fox Hunt Series [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rap541/pseuds/Rap541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its the fall of 1922 and Matthew Crawley has been dead for close to a year. So what happens if a familiar looking stranger shows up in Downton?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a friend after we were discussing the amnesia trope and how hamhanded the Patrick storyline was in season two. I admit to sorely missing Matthew and as implausible as Matthew surviving the car accident was.... its no more ridiculous than any other misdiagnosis of Dr. Clarkson's. 
> 
> I have probably over warned about the graphic nature of the story. There's some graphic rape discussed, its not actually depicted. There's a lot of talk about homosexuality in 1920s context which means its not always very open minded because that was how the time was. The way the story went, there ended up being a fairly negative depiction of homosexuality which does not reflect the author's views at all. What I am depicting is an abhorrent thing that also happen in the straight community. That some people in the straight community are rapist scum certainly doesn't mean that all straight people are rapists, and that goes for the gay community as well.

It was raining. Sometimes it seemed like it was always raining lately. Isabel had thought about moving away. She never seriously considered it, she was far too old to restart life in a new city, and it wouldn't alleviate her loneliness. But sometimes it was hard to look at the empty rooms at Crawley House.

She'd given the maid the afternoon off, so when she heard the knock on the door, she got up to answer it. She took a moment to try and shake off the blues. "Hello," she said brightly.

It was a man, his head down, in badly worn, wet clothes and cap. His eyes were downcast, and he didn't look up at her. "Are you Mrs. Isobel Crawley? From Manchester?" He was shaking from the cold, she realized. His accent struck her. Someone had sent her a stray to look after, it had happened before, but the strays didn't usually sound so upperclass. On the other hand, she knew house servants often worked very hard to lose local accents.

"I am," she said easily. "Did someone give you my name?" That would tell her what sort of trouble the poor fellow was in. 

He nodded, still not looking up at her. She didn't like to see that in the women she helped, it meant their spirits were broken and there wasn't as much chance of rehabilitating them. Men did bounce back better though. They tended to be shamed at needing to ask for help, but worked harder to build themselves back up. The fellow looked ragged, cold, and muddy, but he didn't reek of drink. "Mrs. Morris, a neighbor of yours in Manchester. I... Repaired her roof and she gave me your name and address and said you might help me. With... With my trouble."

Mrs. Evelyn Morris, an elderly woman even when she had left Manchester, and not someone she had kept in touch with. Not someone who sent her projects, in fact they had just been neighbors on the same street. Matthew had sometimes done chores for her as a little boy but they had only known each other in passing. It added to the mystery. "Well," she said brightly, "I'm not always able to help but I can certainly try. What sort of trouble are you in?" With men, it was almost always theft or drink.

"She thought you might know me," he said nervously. "You see, I don't... I don't seem to know anything about myself."

That was a problem she hadn't heard before. "You don't know who you are?" it was intriguing, she had to admit, but she didn't know why Evelyn would send the poor chap to her. "Have you seen a doctor?" Of course he hasn't, she told herself as he shook his head. Poor people don't have money for doctors, they just work through their pain until they die. “What do people call you?"

He shrugged. "You there, mostly. I sometimes use John. Mrs. Morris was different. She kept.... Calling me Matthew and asking why I wasn't in school. I told her what my trouble was and she said I should see you... That you might know who I was." He looked up at her hesitantly. "If you don't, I quite understand. Mrs. Morris was sometimes...a little dafter than even I. I just… had to take the chance."

Evelyn Morris had been getting on, even before they had moved away, but as Isobel looked at the face of the trembling man standing in her doorway, she understood the mistake the elderly woman had made. The poor man did look like Matthew, eerily so, if Matthew had ever dressed himself like a downtrodden street cleaner. Evelyn wasn't likely to even have known that Matthew had died a year earlier. She had seen a man who did look like Matthew, a man who didn't know his own name, and assumed it was Matthew. 

And now she had to dash the poor fellow's hopes. "I am sorry," she said carefully. "Mrs. Morris was calling you Matthew because you look very much like my son Matthew, but he died a year ago." And it was like reopening the worst wound of her life to look in his eyes. It was like looking at a sickly twin of Matthew.

He lowered his eyes, and sighed. "Then I mustn't trouble a lady like yourself any further. My apologies, Mrs. Crawley." He hesitated, a slight smile coming to his face. "It was just... The first time a name had felt right. That's all. I won't trouble you any further."

It's not his fault, the resemblance, Isobel told herself. It’s not his fault how he looks, and he obviously needs help. "That doesn't mean I won't help you. For a start, maybe that is your name. And you haven't seen a doctor, and it's freezing cold. Why don't you come inside and we'll have tea. "

He hesitated. "I don't... I don't want to presume... It sounds like you have troubles of your own, if you don't mind my saying."

It almost made her smile, the working class politeness with the upper class accent and a voice and face almost like Matthew's. "I can spare an afternoon, I think. Now why don't you come inside?"

~*~

Dr. Philip Clarkson waited a moment before he responded to Isobel Crawley. "Isobel," he said gently, "you do understand that Matthew isn't sitting in your kitchen?" He didn't want to be unkind. He'd heard of such delusions, but he'd have thought Isobel was well past that sort of grief.

Isobel gave him a sour look. "Yes, Doctor, I understand that. I am not having a delusion. The sad young man in my kitchen is not my son, but he does resemble Matthew to where it's almost striking. Perhaps I am sentimental because of the resemblance, I don't deny it, but you may be assured I haven't begun to slip. I'm more... Intrigued. He doesn't know his own name, and he seems terribly downtrodden and I wanted to help him or at least make certain I wasn't throwing a sick man out on the streets."

So it was the second problem, Clarkson thought. Isobel's grief had led her to taking on all sorts of projects. He just didn't want to see her hurt by it. "Has it occurred to you that this sad young man as you call him, might be a con artist? Bent on taking advantage of you? If the resemblance is striking...."

"He hasn't asked for money," Isobel said quickly. "And he insisted on making sure the kitchen wood bin was filled, to earn his supper. I rather get the impression that he's learned in a very hard way that those who don't work don't eat."

"Did he eat?" Clarkson decided to get more clinical.

"Like he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks," Isobel said. 

"And you understand there may be nothing I can do for him?" Clarkson said. "Whatever is wrong, brain injuries are tricky. This man might have been injured in the war. "

"This is why we should make every effort to help him." She shook her head. "I know this man isn't Matthew, I do, Phillip, but he must have some family that's wondering what happened to him. At the very least, are we harmed by showing him some kindness? Particularly if he is a war veteran."

He wasn't going to talk her out of it, he could see that. And as he stepped into the kitchen, and Isobel's new stray jumped to his feet, he had to admit, the likeness to Matthew was more than striking, it was eerie. It was a surprise that Isobel wasn't convinced. But then, he had to admit, he'd always thought Isobel Crawley was a woman with a keen intellect, and a kind heart. 

The stray looked at him nervously. "I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect. Mrs. Crawley said it was all right... Are you Mr. Crawley?" He held out his hand, although his eyes seemed suddenly curious. "You're not Mr. Crawley...."

"No, I'm Dr. Clarkson. Mrs. Crawley tells me that you've been injured. That you don't remember your name or anything about yourself. “Amnesia wasn't impossible, but it was rarely total. The eerie likeness made him suspicious. On the other hand, voice was difficult to fake and he was struck by how the fellow sounded like Matthew. So he decided to set a trap. If it was a scam, Isobel was not the obvious target, she was the way in. "Her neighbor in Manchester was calling you Matthew... You do understand that that you can't possibly be Matthew Crawley, don't you?"

The man nodded. "She said her son died... And I don't think we look related." He sighed. "It was the first time a name sounded right. Manchester was familiar and so is this town. You... Seem familiar although I don't know why...so does Mrs. Crawley but you both say her son died. So I will need to keep looking."

"Where will you go?" He seemed genuine, Clarkson had to admit it. But a good con artist would know the target quite well.

"Back to Manchester, I suppose. There's more work there." The fellow looked down at his hands. "I don't intend to take advantage of Mrs. Crawley... "

"But there's plenty of work here. The Earl of Grantham has his estate here. You said it was familiar." And it was the Earl who was the real target. Someone working a con would be delighted to be offered a way in. "Mrs. Crawley is a kind woman, she would probably recommend you. She’s done it for others, others in worse circumstances than yours."

"She might...." the man said, not looking up, "but there's no point."

"Why not?" Clarkson asked. He seemed so certain.

The man looked up at Clarkson, his eyes wary. It was so like Matthew and yet not, he almost didn't catch what the man was saying. "Estates don't hire people who don't have names, Doctor. And servants don't like it when you sound educated, they think I'm putting on airs. I don't have references, so if Mrs. Crawley did plead a favor for me, the servants would resent me. I'm not suited for service, anyway." He held out his left hand, and opened it. Or tried to. The thumb and index finger extended but the other fingers only opened halfway, and a line of scarring ran up the man's arm. It was disquieting. Clarkson knew he wasn't looking at Matthew Crawley, but the injury.... If Matthew had lived, he would have been lucky to have even that much function back. It also hadn't been talked about, Lord Grantham had insisted on that, so that Lady Mary didn’t have the image in her head.

He covered his surprise as the man continued to talk. "I could do the work inside, but it didn't.... It didn't happen in the war so people aren't sympathetic and no one wants a footman with a bad hand, and I can't groom horses well, or handle game and most estates like to hire locals for that kind of work.“ He went back to looking down at his hands. ”I was doing handy work and farm work but it's not very steady. Manchester had road work I could do. I'll likely go back there."

The problem, Clarkson realized, was that he wasn't taking the bait. The scenario that made sense was the con man pretending to have amnesia and then cheerfully and gratefully accept the offer of a place at Downton Abbey where he would shock the Granthams with his similar appearance and his sad, essentially unprovable story. Then he would look for money. But the hand injury was too much, and Clarkson couldn't detect any dishonesty. If anything, the fellow had looked fearful of the idea of working on an estate, and summed up the objections like he'd heard them before. "You don't remember your name, or your past... Do you know how your arm was injured?"

The fellow paled. "No..." he hesitated, “not exactly. It's one of the first things I do remember. I woke up, and I was on a hard table and I was freezing cold and my entire left side was on fire. I think.... My clothes were ripped up... And there was a man and he was unbuttoning my shirt and he screamed when I pushed him off me. He yelled that I was alive and that they had to get out of there and I... Followed them out. It was raining and I was in a lot of pain and I was near a train station and...." He seemed to hesitate. “I thought I was in some sort of trouble and there was an open freight car and I jumped in." He kept his eyes down. "I know that was wrong... I got thrown off the train in some town… I don’t remember where and the police took pity on me and took me to a workhouse instead of jail…." He shuddered visibly.

Clarkson almost didn't hear him. The cold storage for the hospital, where the bodies were kept, the back exit led off to the train station. It was a convenient set up, just a short walk for supply deliveries. And... There had been some theft problems with the staff. Two that had left almost as soon as Matthew had been buried.

And Matthew Crawley had been buried in a closed casket. God knows he hadn't taken a look inside, and as much as he had chided Isobel for imagining the impossible, he had the unpleasant feeling that something terrible had happened. Matthew's body had been brought to the hospital ice cold after spending hours on wet muddy ground. There had been blood, but the bleeding had stopped.... And a cold body, and sheer shock could have thrown him off.

The hand and arm injury was consistent, and so was the head injury. He could see the trailing edge of a scar along the man's left ear and hairline. The broken ribs wouldn't have left marks and he'd have to have him strip for an exam to see the probable scars on the man's left leg. No, Clarkson told himself, don't look for those injuries. "I'd like you to take off your shirt."

The fellow didn't question that at all, which increased his curiosity. His poorer patients didn't like disrobing, they were modest and they didn't understand why the doctor wanted to look at their bodies. Instead of questioning though, the man simply stood up and removed his shirt. He was thin, and the scars on his arm did stay consistent, and Clarkson saw the remains of bruises that told him the fellow hadn't been treated kindly. But it wasn't what he was looking for. "Turn around."

That made the fellow hesitate, and Clarkson was certain he'd caught the man out. Then he turned around, and Clarkson felt that certainty slip away. A scam artist could have found out the nature of Matthew's death injuries and replicated them. And Matthew's war injuries had never been secret but a scam artist wouldn't have known how to replicate the scarring. Clarkson knew his own handiwork when he saw it, and he knew he was looking at the scars he'd left from digging out shrapnel from Matthew Crawley's lower spine. The hesitance had come from the newer scars. Someone in the last year had whipped the man hard enough that the stripes were never going to fade. "How did that happen?"

If he was right about the other scars, then at some point Lord Grantham was going to want to know who had beaten his son in law and heir with a whip.

The man put his shirt back on, a red flush of embarrassment on his face. "I... Got work at an estate a while ago... They took on extra people for the holidays and I got hired as a footman but I dropped things… but the lord took pity on me and made me a stable hand... One of the visiting lords didn't like how I handled his horse... And thought I spoke above my place...And I got whipped and turned out." He looked down and away. "That's why I don't look for work at estates. Small farmers and road crew bosses just fire me if I'm not working well."

"That wasn't legal," Clarkson said after a moment. He sensed there was more to the story. "Even the peerage has to follow the law."

"I don't have a name, so I don't have rights." The young man sat back down at the table and clenched his hands together. "No one is going to care, and no one is going to arrest a peer on the word of his ex stable hand who is so daft he doesn't even know his name."

"You're not daft," Clarkson said after a moment. "You've had a head injury that I suspect you would've recovered from more easily if you'd been surrounded by family encouraging you to remember, but it will heal. That names and places seem familiar indicates that. Your name most likely is Matthew."

He smiled. "It does sound right... I should start using it when I leave tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" That wasn't enough time to even begin to look into things.

Matthew shook his head. He lowered his voice. "I think Matthew is my name, but you said yourself, Mrs. Crawley's son died. I apparently look a great deal like her son and she's been very kind but it would be cruel of me to linger here as a reminder. Besides, she doesn't need a male servant, and this is a small village. People will talk."

People will talk, Clarkson realized, and not just about how inappropriate it was for Isobel Crawley to have taken in another down and out stranger with a questionable background. It was damn lucky the housemaid was off, or else there'd be hysterics in the village already. Even if he was wrong about making the worst mistake of his professional career, if he wasn't looking at Matthew Crawley, he was looking at a near identical copy. "Let me talk with her."

It was a very long walk to the front parlor. Isobel stood up as he entered. "Is there something dreadfully wrong with that young man? You look like you have something terrible to tell me."

“I have to apologize to you, for chiding you, when after speaking with that man… and after looking at him, I’m willing to consider that… some sort of terrible error has been made.” He waited for her to explode.

Instead she smiled. “Phillip, really. He can’t actually be Matthew. You showed Robert and I the body. That’s…. that’s the image I have kept in my head when talking with that poor man.” That was said more shakily. 

“I’m sorry… if I am right about this then I will need to apologize to you every day for the rest of my life. Because I made a mistake and… if I did, then I have cost you and your family dearly.”

“What has you so convinced?” she said after a moment.

“I know what my own work looks like, Isobel. I’m sorry to tell you that I teased a pound of shrapnel out of your son’s lower back and spine, but I did, and I tended the wounds and I know what it bloody well looked like.” He put his hand to his brow. “I’m sorry to snap at you… but the scars on his lower back are identical. I remember Matthew’s more than most because he got up out of the wheelchair and I saw him after the war.” He began to pace around the room. “I’d read of cases…. Where if someone was so cold that they appear dead…”

Isobel waited a long moment. “You believe that this man is Matthew?” She looked at him, intently. “Phillip, admit it here, to me. Do you think my son is sitting in my kitchen?”

He waited a long moment. “I’m sorry, I do. I think I didn’t feel a pulse on his body because he’d been lying on cold wet ground for hours, and he wasn’t bleeding for the same reason. He woke up hours, possibly even a day later, when someone on the staff was…going through his pockets looking for money, or jewelry, and panicked and ran out the door to the train yard. And jumped onto a freight car… and ended up god knows where.”

Isobel was quiet for a long moment. “Who did we bury? How can we prove this if he doesn’t remember anything?”

Clarkson shrugged. “I didn’t look in the casket. No one did. There was a pauper, a woman that died about the same time. There are two things we can do. We could… have the body exhumed.”

Isobel cringed. “If we’re wrong, Mary would never forgive me. What is the other option?”

“Matthew was an officer in the army. He was fingerprinted. It’s a new science but Scotland Yard has used it to identify people.” He hesitated. “We would have to involve Robert. Or rather, someone would tell Robert that I had asked for Matthew’s prints to be checked. It would be better all-around if Robert knew what we were doing.”

“And if we’re right, we’re handing Robert a monstrous problem in the form of an heir that doesn’t remember his own name.” Isobel’s voice shook. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“If I am right, that will change, Isobel.” Clarkson took her hand. “This….amnesia…. usually fades quickly because the person who has it is usually surrounded by reminders of their past and people who want them to remember. It has lasted so long because wherever he ended up, no one knew him, so no one could help him. As soon as he was presented with something familiar, he sought it out. Right now though, we have to be very careful. We both could be wrong. I think, from speaking with him, that he’s not lying, but we do have to consider that possibility. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried claiming amnesia to gain the estate. I will have to tell Robert, to get his help, but I think we both know that he won’t want Mary to know about the possibility until we’re certain. He can’t stay here with you. Your maid won’t be able to keep a secret like this, it’s lucky she was off this afternoon. And… we were both so quick to deny the possibility that he is Matthew that he feels he shouldn’t stay.”

“What? Why?” Isobel asked.

Clarkson sighed. “Because you’re a grieving mother and he looks like your dead son, and he feels it would be cruel to stay and act as a reminder. I think I can provide a solution. I will take him to my house. I don’t have servants, there’s plenty of odd jobs I could have him do so he doesn’t feel like we’re offering charity. There’s nothing unusual with you visiting my home, and we can try providing reminders about his life while the finger prints are checked. I think if we tell him about the finger prints, that I think he was in the war and could be identified that way, that he would be willing to stay, just to have it checked out.”  
~*~

It was very nice of the doctor to look into things for him. He didn’t know that he believed them, that despite how they told him that he couldn’t be Matthew Crawley, that maybe he was. He wondered to himself, more than once in the last four days, if it wasn’t wishful thinking on their part. He was willing to stay until it was clear they were grasping at straws and until it was clear he was being given make work and not real work.

Fortunately Dr. Clarkson was pretty typical for someone who didn’t have a valet or a maid. There were plenty of chores around the house that had obviously been left for years, and if it was just a respite, then he was more than willing to get the place in some semblance of order in exchange for a few days where he didn’t have to worry about where he was going to sleep or whether he could afford more than one meal a day. Indoor work was pleasant work. Nicer by far than shoveling asphalt. And the doctor wasn’t like the lord at the estate. He didn’t want unpleasant things.

He was finishing up shining the doctor’s shoes when Mrs. Crawley entered the pantry. “I let myself in,” she said as he stood up. “What are you doing?”

“I was shining Dr. Clarkson’s shoes,” he easily as he resumed his seat. He examined the shoes carefully. “I’m surprised he let these go… People always look at a doctor’s shoes to see how respectable he is. A doctor with dirty shoes might have dirty hands and who wants a doctor with dirty hands?” He wasn’t sure where that came from but it made him smile.

Mrs. Crawley kept smiling but he sensed something was wrong. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “Did I offend you?”

“No,” she said, although she was clearly composing herself. “It’s just that… your father used to say that. You would help him shine his shoes every night when you were little…”

He didn’t like chiding her, because she had been very kind. “You’re not supposed to say things like that, Mrs. Crawley. Dr. Clarkson said not to suggest things.” But it felt right. For an instant, he was in a different place, where a kindly older man was showing him how to rub the polish on the leather. “You’re probably wrong. It seems very unlikely that I am your son.”

“I know,” she said after a long moment. “Actually we should find out today. Lord Grantham called Dr. Clarkson out to the estate to look at the findings on the finger prints.”

Which meant the easy work would soon end. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “This must be very painful. Having the death of your son dragged up.”

“You seem quite convinced you’re not my son,” she said after a moment. “What if it was true? If the finger prints match then… there’s really no doubt. What you told Dr. Clarkson, about your first memories on waking up, it does coincide. What if your name isn’t just Matthew, but Matthew Crawley?”

He set down the shoes. It was difficult to consider. “I don’t know. You’re the one getting the bad bargain if that happens. If it is true, nothing really changes for me. I still don’t remember anything, and you’d be burdened with a son who is a mental and physical cripple. Damaged goods, really.” God knows he’d been told that often enough. People were always telling him how useless and stupid he was.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” she said after a moment. “To begin with, a child is never a burden and if it is true, then I would take it as a blessing because the alternative is much worse. Second, regardless of who you are, you aren’t a cripple, or damaged goods. You work very hard, you’re very polite and respectful and your hand doesn’t seem to trouble you much.”

“I could be a shoeshine boy,” he said. He picked up the shoes and gave them a swipe. “I used to shine the other boys shoes at Eton for pocket money….”

“Really? Why?”

The memory rose up in his thoughts as though he’d suddenly leapt off a cliff and grabbed it going down. “Because I was on a king’s scholarship and the other boys weren’t always kind about it, and Patrick would tease me about being his poor cousin, and I didn’t like asking for money because Father was ill… and then he died and I didn’t want….” He stopped. The memory was there but oddly, he felt strange admitting it. Because…

“And you didn’t want me to worry,” she finished. “You know, I’m convinced now, Matthew.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said as he resumed polishing the shoes. “A lot of people go to Eton. I know, because of how I speak, that I was educated.” He had heard that often enough, along with a lot of laughter how stupid he was to speak so well and know nothing.

“It seems unlikely that many of them were on scholarship and had a nasty cousin named Patrick,” Isobel said after a moment. “But I will wait for the finger print report.”  
~*~

Robert dropped to the chair and stared at the report. “How could this happen?” He waved his hand at Clarkson as the man began to speak. “Don’t explain the sequence of events, I did understand the preposterous story you told me. I just thought you were indulging Isobel through some sort of grieving collapse. But this….”He checked to make sure the door to the library was still closed. “Matthew is alive.”

“Yes.” Clarkson said it softly. “But he is not himself, Robert.”

Robert stood up. “Then I need to see him.” If just to assess the damage and see how best to present it to the family. He waited a long moment. “What?”

“I told you before, that he didn’t remember anything about his life. Even his name was lost to him. He won’t know you, Lord Grantham. You have to prepare yourself for that.” Clarkson said.

“But he could get better?” Robert was certain he recalled Clarkson saying something about that. 

“Yes, he could, and he most likely will once we start reinforcing what he does remember, but… you need to accept that there is a possibility he won’t. You also need to accept that until he does remember more clearly, his mannerism and reactions will be different.” Clarkson hesitated. “I can’t give you orders but… you will want to go slowly.”

“I will see him today.” There were times when it paid to be the lord of the manor. He didn’t plan to demand answers from a man as physically and mentally fragile as Clarkson described, but if he was going to completely throw the family into disarray, he had to see the man. Robert waited until they were ensconced in Clarkson’s car before he asked more questions. “Why are you so worried? This is good news.”

Clarkson didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Lord Grantham… I made a horrific error, worse that it’s the second time I’ve failed your son in law in such a terrible way. Matthew has suffered dearly for it. He has spent the last year of his life wandering from place to place doing odd jobs for money. I’m taking you to see him, and he may very well be frightened of you. In fact, I am quite certain he’ll be frightened of you.”

“Frightened? Why?” Matthew had never been a timid man.

“People aren’t very kind to vagrants who can’t even tell you their name. He explained that to me quite succinctly when I attempted to trick him into revealing his motivations. There are problems his situation causes.” Clarkson gave him a glance. “The lower classes have little pity for members of the upper class who fall on hard times. We know Matthew was an educated man, but if he doesn’t remember his name, he can’t take advantage of that education. But he sounds educated so upper class employers are off put by it and lower class employers think he’s arrogant and putting on airs. His left hand is a bit… badly healed so skilled labor was out. I’m under the impression he’s mostly been working as a laborer and farm hand.”

“Well, that’s certainly awful, but not shameful.” Robert said. “I won’t blow up at him. If he couldn’t remember his own name, then he did the best he could and we will all thank God it wasn’t worse.” His mother would have plenty to say about it, but he rather hoped the good news would ease the concern about a scandal.

“It was worse. He was put in a work house at least twice, probably more, and was brutally beaten by someone on an estate for mishandling a horse.” Clarkson paused. “He’s learned by very unpleasant lessons that people in authority like you are likely to be unpleasant and unkind to him. I meant it, Lord Grantham, when I said he won’t know you. I think the memories are there, I think I’ve seen some progress between Isobel and him… He doesn’t like to admit it because we were so blunt to him that it couldn’t possibly be true, but he has remembered some things about her, but he hasn’t connected that he’s related to you.”

“What about Mary? And George?” That was the next problem. George of course wouldn’t mind but Mary had finally turned the corner of grief, only to find out this, that Matthew was alive. Alive and damaged in a way that would be very awkward. She will need to deal with it, he decided, as will I, and everyone else. As upsetting as it was, it was also good news. It was possible that Matthew could recover. There were worse things.

“Lord Grantham,” Clarkson took a deep breath. “He doesn’t know them. Until about seven days ago, he didn’t know that his name was Matthew, let alone Matthew Crawley. You mustn’t expect much.”

Isobel was waiting at the door of Clarkson’s small house. She clearly had guessed the news Clarkson was bringing and gave the man a teary hug. “We were talking while waiting and … he remembered something about Reginald.”

“That’s a good sign,” Clarkson said, “Especially since the finger prints are a match. Lord Grantham is here to see him and talk with him. 

Isobel looked at him, oddly nervous. “Robert, he won’t know who you are beyond the fact that we told him we were asking you for help. We intentionally didn’t tell him as a sort of failsafe.”

“A failsafe?” 

“Because,” Clarkson said, “We were both worried that we were wrong, that we were looking at a man who just resembled Matthew. Until we were certain that he was Matthew, I thought it wiser to not tell him that he was your heir, in case he was…. Well, attempting some sort of scam. Now that we’re certain, we can give him more information and reinforce things that he does remember.”

“And you should let us tell him, Robert,” Isobel said. “Before you interrogate him.”

Robert gave up at that point and acquiesced. He knew the look in Isobel’s eyes, despite having not seen it in over a year. Matthew was her son and she was going to protect him. He waited patiently in Clarkson’s small parlor, and considered all the potential problems. He would need to involve the authorities. The fingerprints would be enough but people would ask questions so at some point he would need to track where Matthew had been for an entire year. The grave would need to be exhumed. Clarkson had already given him the names of the staff at the hospital that he suspected of being thieves and they would need to be questioned.

And Mary, who was currently in London, having lunch with Tony Gillingham… he had no idea how she would react. The minutes ticked by.

Isobel and Clarkson entered the parlor. They both looked quite happy but also nervous. “We’ve told him,” Isobel said, her voice trembling. She was close to tears of joy. “And that you want to see him… Robert, please be kind with what you tell him. Promise me that.”

“Of course, Isobel. Now where are you hiding him?”

They were hiding him in the kitchen, of course. It was a shock, as Matthew jumped to his feet like one of the servants, to see him, in plain laborer clothes, and an expression on his face that was somewhere between shock and fear. “I’m sorry,” Matthew said nervously as he gestured at the report, his hands shaking. “I was just looking over the fingerprint report… I didn’t think it would be true. You must be Lord Grantham.” He held out his hand and looked down at his feet.

Robert shook his hand. “We’ve met, Matthew. Please sit down.” He wasn’t certain Matthew was capable of standing, truth be told. The poor fellow looked worse than he had during the war, pale, sickly, and too thin by far. But it was Matthew, of that he was certain. 

“We’ve met?” Matthew nodded worriedly as he took a seat at the table. “Of course we’ve met and I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

Robert chuckled, despite the situation. “I’m sorry, but for someone who’s been given a piece of good news, you look very upset.”

Matthew looked down at the report. “It’s good news, of course… I just… feel like I have handed a very nice lady a tremendous burden in the form of a useless son.”

Ironic, Robert thought, that I’ve heard this before, only the last time he was in a wheelchair. “You’re not useless, and Dr. Clarkson and Isobel both think you’ve already had some memory return. It is a blessing that you’re alive, Matthew.”

Matthew looked at him quizzically. “You’ve said that to me before…”

“Yes,” Robert said, “and under much worse circumstances. You do not have to be concerned about Isobel feeling burdened.”

“But why… I mean…” It was strange, Robert thought, to see someone as quick-witted as Matthew struggle so hard, and yet it seemed important to let him struggle, to work it out on his own. Then Matthew blinked, as if a light had gone on. “We’re related, aren’t we? It’s distant… Patrick used to brag about it, when he wasn’t teasing me about being his poor cousin. You’re the Earl but you had nothing but daughters so Patrick was your heir…. Is that… is that right?”

“Yes,” Robert said, thankful that the man he knew was inside. Thankful and relieved. Clarkson had made it sound like there was nothing but a shell of the man he’d known. “I just didn’t know that you didn’t like Patrick.” In fact it had never even dawned on him that Matthew had been at Eton the same time Patrick had attended but they were of an age.

“No, I didn’t mention it…” Again he seemed to struggle to find the thought. “Because… he died, and it seemed churlish of me to mention something that happened when we were school boys… and all of your daughters liked him and despised me because I became your heir….” His face whitened. “This is a terrible burden for you, then. You must have had to find another heir… was there anyone left? How terrible for them…”

“Your son became my heir,” Robert said gently. “I’m sure he won’t mind waiting.”

“My son?” Matthew turned an off grey. “I don’t…. I’m sorry, I am sure you’re telling me the truth but… I can’t even imagine who I would have married…. I have a son I don’t remember. And a wife. What a terrible father and husband I am.”

Clarkson stepped into the kitchen. Robert realized suddenly that the man had been listening the entire time. “Matthew,” Clarkson said gently, “Your son was born the day you had the car accident that injured you. You are remembering things, and I think you will remember a great deal more in the next few days and weeks, but you may find your earlier memories come more easily at first. That certainly doesn’t make you a bad father or husband.” He poured Matthew a cup of tea. “Why don’t you drink that, and give yourself a moment to think about the news, while I talk to Lord Grantham about what will be happening next.”

He followed Clarkson to the parlor. “It’s very good,” Clarkson said reassuringly, “what just happened. It means whatever happened in his head, the memories are still there, its matter of accessing them. He might not directly remember things but you’re being familiar is letting him connect.” He gave both Robert and Isobel a long look. “But what I said to him is also true; it’s much more likely that he will remember older memories first. You will need to mindful of that because you’re likely to overwhelm him with information.” He looked at Robert carefully. “You intend to take him to Downton Abbey, right away, I can tell, and I strongly suggest you wait. Let him stay here tonight at least and get used to the idea that his life is dramatically different. He is badly shocked, Lord Grantham.”

Robert nodded. “You’re right. My first thought was to throw him in the car and take him to Mary… and now that I think about it, that might end terribly.” At Isobel’s look, he added, “He recalled that I have several daughters, none of whom like him. It might be a bit of a shock to find out he married the one that liked him the least at the start.”

Isobel actually laughed. “It did take them long enough, didn’t it? But I think Dr. Clarkson is right, Robert. And you’ll need to tell the family.”

“Then…. You will have him here for several days. Time enough to get him something more respectable to wear and time enough for me to get Mary back from London.” Because god knows the last thing that needed to be added to the mix was annoyed suitors.  
~*~

It was very strange for Papa to insist she cut a visit in London short. She had almost argued with him, but she had sensed a certain intensity in his voice that made her worry. Instead, she made her apologies to Tony Gillingham, who had graciously offered to escort her, but she had turned him down. She had the sense that it was some sort of family issue. Tony wasn’t family, yet.

So she wasn’t surprised that Robert had them all called into the library. Such a house of women for Papa, she thought suddenly, as she looked at Cora, Violet, Edith and Rose. Tom was there, of course, but it was almost as if he was a stand in for the specter of Sybil. Poor Papa, she thought suddenly, with Matthew dead, Edith unmarried, and Sybil married to an Irish chauffer. It couldn’t have been easy for him, she realized that his walk through life had been far more difficult than she ever considered. But when she looked in his eyes, while he was worried, it wasn’t bad news. It eased her mind.

She was surprised when he began pouring stiff cordials for all of them, and made a show of handing them all generous drinks. Hard liquor was rarely handed to the women and even her mother seemed shocked. He also had a sheaf of papers that he tapped pensively. 

“So,” he said carefully, as he sipped his own drink. “I have good news, and it is good news although there is plenty of difficulty attached to it.” He looked at her. “Mary, please sit down.”

She didn’t sit. “Why, Papa?”

“Just… sit down and take a drink, Mary.” He actually waited until she took a seat and sipped the drink. “As I said… it is good news but difficult.” He took position near her. “There’s no way to break this gently so I will be blunt. Matthew is alive.”

She waited a moment. “What?”

Her father sipped his drink. “I know that’s a shock, but it’s true and I have seen him. Matthew is alive. He is badly damaged and he may not fully recover but he is alive and we will… need to make adjustments.” 

There were gasps all around, including her own but she forced it away. “Papa, what do you mean? And please don’t treat me like a delicate woman. You’ve just said my husband that I buried a year ago is alive. Considering you insisted you and his mother saw his body and I wasn’t to look… I need answers.”

Her father took another long drink. “It was freezing cold that night, and Matthew was found in a wet gully after lying there for hours. Dr. Clarkson says there are cases where if someone is injured and very cold, their… their pulse becomes very faint, almost indiscernible. Dr. Clarkson thought Matthew was dead. He was put in the cold storage and woke up when some thieves were going through his pockets. He.... had no memory of himself, Mary. He panicked when the thieves ran and saw an empty box car at the rail yard and got in… frankly he’s been wandering from place to place since, with no idea what his name was or where he was from. He ended up in Manchester about a month ago and an elderly woman recognized him and gave him Isobel’s address. Isobel was admittedly skeptical but called Dr. Clarkson, who identified Matthew by the surgical scars on his back and they asked me to have his fingerprints compared to his war record to be certain. I thought they were both mad, which was why I hadn’t spoken about it. I thought… I thought Isobel was having some sort of breakdown and I didn’t want to burden the family with it. I contacted the authorities to have the fingerprints checked to prove them wrong, and… I was wrong. The experts at Scotland Yard insist it’s a match. And… I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him, Mary. I’ve talked with him… Isobel and Clarkson were right to have the fingerprints checked, to be certain, but… he is alive.”

“Then… “She gulped down a swallow of her drink, “then why didn’t you bring him home?” She didn’t even realize it until after that her mother had taken a seat beside her and was holding her free hand. “Why isn’t he here right now?”

“Because he genuinely remembers very little of his life, Mary. I was worried bringing him here without warning you all… we would overwhelm him and make his confusion and worry worse. Until ten days ago, he didn’t know his name was Matthew. When I checked with Isobel today, before I gathered you all, she said he had remembered some things from his childhood and that he was fairly convinced, based on Cousin Patrick having a streak of cruelty in Eton that I hadn’t realized, and some fleeting memories of those early dinners where everyone sneered at him, that no one in the family liked him and are surely to resent him even more now that he presents a difficult problem. He’s quite convinced he’s a useless invalid and a burden.”

“Is he?” Mary asked. “I’m not asking to be cruel, Papa. You said…. When you wouldn’t let me see the body, that it was better I didn’t see, I always assumed… that he was quite mangled. And Matthew himself never liked the idea of seeing a loved one dead. He told me the image of his father he remembered most was his father in a casket and he didn’t want to remember anyone else he loved that way. That’s why I didn’t insist. Is he crippled?” He was alive, she thought suddenly. Crippled was nothing compared to the last year.

“I think,” Robert said reassuringly, “that he’s being far too harsh on himself, as always. Some of the fingers on his left hand don’t open, his wrist doesn’t bend like it should, but he seems to grip and pick things up well enough. Nothing that would have troubled him as a lawyer. There are some scars but nothing terribly visible. The problem is that since he couldn’t remember his name or his position, he couldn’t use the skills he had and with a bad hand could hardly do skilled labor. I think it’s been very difficult for him to get by, with no references, no name to give, and a dodgy looking hand. I’m certain he’s been cruelly treated, I only have to look at how quickly some people turn on the unfortunate. “

“How terrible,” Violet said, “that people would be so cruel to someone like Matthew.”

“But that’s just it, Grandmama,” Edith said suddenly. “They wouldn’t know it was Matthew. If he didn’t know his name, and they hadn’t met him before, they would just see a poor lost man with an injury that was probably from the war. And there’s so many of those. It must have been dreadful for him.”

Robert nodded. “If anything, Mary, to answer your question, I think it is his spirit that has been mangled. He’s spent the last year living on the edge of society with no one so much as giving him a kind glance, and being told he’s not good for anything other than jobs that no one else is willing to take. I think that’s the damage that will be difficult to heal.”

“Oh Papa….” She felt her mother grip her hand reassuringly, and appreciated it. “But if he is otherwise well, then being surrounded by family should help. And Dr. Clarkson said his memories were returning? He can recover?”

“Dr. Clarkson said it was possible but that it could take time, a lot of time, and there are no guarantees.” Her father took a seat beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Mary, this is joyous news but you must be prepared for the harsh reality. When I bring him to the house tomorrow, he most likely won’t recognize you. He didn’t recognize me until something triggered in his mind and just seeing you may not provide a spark. He has seen Isobel every day for the last five days and he still calls her Mrs. Crawley because he’s not remembering his own mother in any meaningful way. If he does remember you, he will likely remember something from when you first met.”

“Where I was horrid to him,” Mary said, feeling suddenly cold.

“Where we were all horrid to Matthew,” Cora said sagely. “If he has unpleasant memories of first meeting us, it’s because we hardly covered ourselves with glory. Let us consider this a fresh start.” She looked at Robert. “You should invite Isobel to stay with us until Matthew is well. If it were one of my children with such an injury, I would not want to be separated until I was certain of recovery.”

“Of course,” Robert said. He stood up and gestured to the amassed group. “You must all be prepared for the fact that he will act differently. I found him almost shy and nervous seeming. Skittish. As if he is fearful that he’s giving offense. He doesn’t look well, he is very thin and pale looking.”

“Does he know that he has a son? That he’s married and has a child?” She made a point of not sounding angry even though she could see the truth on her father’s face.

“I told him that he has a son and that he is married, and he called himself a terrible father and husband for not remembering, despite the reality that he’s not at fault. He is very fragile, Mary.” Robert seemed poised to chastise her.

Despite it all, she laughed. “Papa, isn’t that Matthew in fine order? Not at fault but blaming himself for something that can’t be helped.”


	2. Chapter twp

“Well?” James asked as Carson strode into the servants. “Is it really him or is it some dodgy con man?”

“Leave off,” Bates said, even before Carson began to bellow. “His lordship isn’t a fool, and neither is Doctor Clarkson or Mrs. Crawley. He let us see the fingerprint report. He would not have disrupted his entire household including Lady Mary without having absolutely no doubt that Matthew Crawley is alive. He’s contacted government authorities to have Mr. Crawley reinstated as one of the living.” He nodded to Carson. “Forgive me, Mr. Carson, for stepping into your role.”

“In this case,” Carson huffed, “I do not mind. James, that sorely injured man who is currently looking at his lordship’s library like he has never set eyes on this house before is Mr. Matthew Crawley. Lord Grantham is certain, and therefore I am certain. I agree with his lordship in that this is joyous news but also difficult news and I relish our role in helping. And why are you sitting in the servant’s hall? Surely you have work?” 

Bates waited until James left to ask his next question. “Did his lordship explain the new arrangement?”

“Yes.” Carson sighed as he took a seat at the table. “With little more than a few minutes with Mr. Crawley, I must say it is a wise decision on Lord Grantham’s part. I think Mr. Crawley will need a steadier hand than Mosely as a valet. And Mosely is well pleased with assuming valet duties with Lord Grantham. It is a sacrifice on your part though and I thank you, Mr. Bates” 

“It’s not a sacrifice at all,” Bates said easily. “Had… things been different, I had planned to request the change. With Anna with Lady Mary, and me with Mr. Crawley, we would have seen more of each other. And as much as we tease poor Mosely, he is skilled and will tend Lord Grantham very well. You know that as well as I. However, he’s not a steady man and when Lord Grantham said that Matthew was quite out of sorts, it seemed an act of mercy to not inflict him with Mosely. For both his and Mosely’s sake. What room will Mr. Crawley be in?” He somehow suspected it would be awkward to presume Mary would want to share a bed with a man that didn’t remember her. 

“The room across the hall from Lady Mary. I had Thomas place his bags there… What little he had.” Carson sighed again.

“Is he that bad?” Bates asked. He’d only had a glance. Lord Grantham had insisted that the staff not do the typical welcome and to just go about their normal duties. The man had seemed off, nervous and almost shaking with discomfort.

“It is like looking at a man who is there but not there.” Carson said, his voice laced with worry. “He didn’t recognize me, and kept calling me Mr. Carson like a nervous footman. He flinched away from his lordship like he thought Lord Grantham was going to strike him. I fear something has cruelly harmed him in some way and I don’t think it was the car accident.”

“Well, at least he is here now,” Bates said, “surrounded by friends and family who want him well. I wonder… how terribly lonely it must have been.” At Carson’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Even in prison, Mr. Carson, in my worst moments, I could hold onto the truth in my heart that there were people who cared about me, that Anna loved me. I don’t know how I would have borne it without that. Poor Mr. Crawley, a more sensitive soul than I, had nothing. I feel sorry for that man. “

“You are often very wise, Mr. Bates.”  
~*~

He was afraid to touch anything. It wasn’t a house, it was a castle really, bigger than any estate house he’d seen, and everything in the library looked expensive and breakable. Nothing felt familiar, nothing at all, and he was certain that Lord Grantham was expecting him to say something and he had no idea what. “This is a beautiful library, Lord Grantham.” Feeling like he had to say more, he added, “I like to read.”

“Does it seem familiar?” Lord Grantham said affably. “You spent a lot of time here. And you should call me Robert, Matthew. This is your home, you are my son in law and my heir. I’m not attempting to trick you. Believe me, it’s not that clever of a hoax. The shelves over there have the books you added.”

Matthew looked. The nagging problem was that he did recognize the books, in that he could place the stories but he couldn’t recall the act of reading them. He hesitated and then pulled a book out. “I started to read this,” he said, more to himself.

“The Time Machine?” Robert said, looking at the book. “I know you’ve read it. You recommended it to me. Not really my taste.”

“No… “He hesitated, sensing suddenly that Lord Grantham, Robert, wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “I started to read this about three months ago. I found a copy in the trash outside of a school and I took it and then a few days later someone stole it from me… I never got to finish it.”

“Then borrow it,” Robert said easily. “The only rule I have is to sign books out on the ledger.” He directed Matthew to the ledger and flipped several pages back. “See, your name is here many times.”

It was. It was even his handwriting. “At least I’ll have the pleasure of reading a story fresh.” After a moment he smiled. “That is funny, isn’t it? No need for any new books for a bit.”

Robert laughed. “I was thinking it, but I didn’t want to say it.”

“You should.” It was odd, that he felt suddenly comfortable with Robert, but he did. “It’s all right to laugh. It is quite absurd and ridiculous, all things considered. I mean, I’m apparently married to one of your daughters and I don’t recall which one. You have to admit, that’s quite laughable…. If not very complementary to whoever my wife is.”

Robert smiled more broadly. “You sound more like yourself, Matthew. And it is a bit humorous. I’m glad you remembered that it was one of my daughters. That’s a good sign.”

“But,” and now he felt bad, “I didn’t remember it. You gave it away, just now. The other day, you said I became your heir, but today you said I was your heir and son in law. I can’t be both without marrying one of your daughters.”

“I suppose not,” Robert said after a moment. “Who do you think you married?” Robert took a seat in one of the chairs. “I’m not mocking you, Matthew. If your earlier memories are more likely to reappear so to speak, Cora pointed out the other night that we all will come off a bit badly. I have to tell you, of course. Dr. Clarkson agreed that while we’re not to explain out every detail of your life, it’s unfair to dance around who you married… But I was curious, before I tell you, what you thought.”

Matthew concentrated but very little came to him. Three pretty women, all frowning at him, although….”Sybil.”  
“Sybil? Why Sybil?”

“I think she was the only one that liked me.” He shook his head. “And when I say it sounds wrong.”

“It is wrong, “Robert quickly. “It surprises me because I suppose I never considered it at all and yet… it wouldn’t have been a bad match. But no.” He hesitated. “You married Mary.”

“Mary? But she hated me.” He waited a long moment, because what he was going to ask was more than impertinent. “Did… were we forced to get married? Did you insist?”

“No, Matthew, your bride was quite willing.” Robert laughed suddenly. “It just took forever. She is actually quite angry with me that I told her to let you get inside the house before she rushed you with hugs and kisses.”

“But she hated me. Because of the entail. They all did. You were the exception, and you weren’t happy about it because you’d never met me and you didn’t like that I was a lawyer.” He stopped. “I was a lawyer… I went to Oxford.”

“You were a good lawyer for the most part,” said a new voice. It was Mary. She looked only a little bit older than he remembered, and she seemed more hesitant. “And I didn’t hate you, Matthew. I was just angry that… The entail seemed very unfair. But you needn’t worry…. I was quite happy to marry you. Because I love you.” She stepped forward. “Papa, he looks quite well. You made it sound like he could barely stand.”

“Mary…” Robert muttered.

“Yes, I know he doesn’t remember, and I just heard him ask if he was forced to marry me and that he’s quite certain I hate him. Trust me, Papa, I don’t plan to ravish him with kisses in front of you. Matthew, the first thing you need to know, when you are remembering things, is that you should never pay attention to what I say.”

“But you said…” He stopped. It was pointless really. It was like throwing rocks at a well armed soldier. He might irritate her but he could never win since she was better armed. He looked down and away.

There was a long moment of silence. “And now I suddenly understand your concern, Papa. Matthew, do you know when I fell in love with you?”

"No," he said after a long moment, "I'm sure I don't." And if he felt like a fool, it was hardly anyone's fault. 

She smiled. "I had just had a row with someone, we were outside at one of the benches and you looked at me and said that if I liked to argue, then you and I should see more of each other. I do not hate you, Matthew, and I certainly wasn't forced to marry you, and if I had been dragged to the wedding altar, you probably wouldn't have survived the wedding night." 

"Mary!" Robert said. 

"Papa, we weren't forced to marry. Matthew, look at me." Her tone was sharp, but not harsh. He looked at her. She smiled slightly. "Matthew, you are my husband and I love you, and this last year was a nightmare of grief. Just seeing you here alive is enough for me. I can't ... I can't have you thinking that you were forced to marry me. You weren't. I wouldn't have stood for it, Father wouldn't have pressed me, and you wouldn't have stood for it either. You may not recall this, but you're very stubborn." 

"Am I?" It didn't sound like a compliment. 

"Yes, very." She looked at him, and then at Robert. "And that is why I am not showering you with kisses, even though I dearly want to. You would just pull away, or you would let me because you feel like you must because you've been told we're married. I wouldn't be forced to marry, and you do not remember why we married and I want a willing husband. I cannot and will not force you to feel something that isn't there yet. Because I know you, Matthew, and that means the more I push in, the more I will push you away. It will come, in time, and I will consider it a lesson in patience." 

"What if it doesn't?" he asked. "It may not. I didn't know my own name for a year. Even with... Things seeming more familiar, the floodgates have hardly opened." 

"The alternative, my husband dead and buried, was much worse." She said it easily. He wondered about that. He doubted that she had considered the reality.

"But that isn't the alternative." He said it without thinking. "Lord Grantham can't be rid of me as his heir, at least not easily, but you could easily divorce me." 

Mary smiled. "On what grounds?" 

"Abandonment, obviously. Mental defect would also be a way. But harder to get an actual divorce. You definitely have grounds for abandonment though. It seems quite well documented that... What with you thinking I was dead. Mental cruelty might also be a ground for divorce." He waited a moment. "You should at least consider it." 

"Look at that," Mary said pleasantly, although her tone had an edge. "You haven't been in the house for more than an hour, and we're already having a fight. It’s just like you never left." 

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I was being too forward." He could feel his nerves start to ring. 

"You weren't," Mary said quickly. "You have every right to speak your mind with me. Or with anyone in this house. I think, considering you've been here for little more than an hour that you should be a bit less pessimistic. For someone who doesn't remember being a lawyer, you've argued for my divorcing you quite brilliantly." She turned to Robert. "Has Matthew been shown his room? Dr. Clarkson was quite clear, we're not to tire him out."   
~*~ 

She could see that her father was angry. She braced herself for the tongue lashing as Bates took Matthew to his room. 

"Did you really need to do that," her father asked. He was livid. 

"Yes," she said easily. "You said it was his spirit that was damaged the most, and I agree. It's as if someone has beaten all of the fight out of his soul. He also was serious about being forced to marry me. I can't have him think that, Papa. He doesn't deserve to not know that. That’s not fair to him at all. And I meant what I said.... I can't force him to be in love with me, and he shouldn't be made to. It will come or it won't. But until it does come, we all have to back off on the point. He was terrified, Papa, terrified of disagreeing with either of us. Someone has been very hateful to him." It worried her. The damage seemed overwhelming. 

"Then why did you goad him into discussing divorce?" Her father was genuinely puzzled, she could see. 

"To see if Matthew is really in there. And he is. You saw it, so did I. For a moment, he was... Himself. Arguing the finer points of how I could be rid of him of all things, but he is there. I think he’s too frightened right now to let it out unless he is goaded. You haven't said everything Dr. Clarkson told you. What has been left out?" It was like her father to protect her, and she knew he had left something out. “Don’t treat me like a useless woman who can't handle the facts. My husband died a year ago and now he's upstairs unpacking and I haven't thrown any sort of hysterical tantrum about it. What happened to him?" 

That something had happened was clear. She didn’t pretend to know what life was like in the lower classes but Matthew was far too nervous for someone who simply had worked as a labourer.

Robert sighed and gestured for her to sit. "Mary...I don't have exact details. Matthew just hasn't said. He may not even really know, from what Clarkson has said. I spared the rest of the family the details because they are unpleasant. As far as we know, he woke upon the hospital cold storage. There were thieves going through his pockets. He wandered out after the thieves and saw an empty box car and got in, because he assumed he was in some sort of trouble. Clarkson checked the train schedule. We think Matthew ended up close to Wales. He told Isobel and Dr. Clarkson that...he had on several occasions ended up in workhouses. Isobel has told, has told us all really, what goes on in those places that the poor are often degraded. Can you imagine, Mary, what your grandmother's reaction to a man, not Matthew, showing up at Downton unable to even give his name, with a bad hand, looking for work? Or mine, for that matter?" 

"I think you would be kinder than someone running a workhouse," she said after a moment. "Granny not so much, I agree. And I can see where it might be a bit wearing to constantly hear how a bad hand made you unsuited for work... Particularly if they connected bad luck to being a lazy sinner and they always do, but that doesn't seem spirit crushing." Something had crushed him, she could see it, and it made her angry.

"There is more, and I assure you, I plan to look into it," Robert said carefully. "Dr. Clarkson didn’t make the connection, he was more concerned about the actual injury than what the circumstances meant." He waited a moment. "At some point, around the Christmas holidays last year, Matthew got hired as a footman at an estate. He was demoted, after dropping too many dishes, or possibly someone just didn't like the scars on his hand, to being an assistant groom. Then he mishandled a horse and the lord of the estate had him whipped and turned out." 

It made her pause, her heart clenched. "That sounds like something out of a book, Papa." She didn’t know what to think. Such things happened, she couldn’t deny it, but it wasn’t acceptable behavior any more, for a peer to savagely beat a worker. Whoever had done it had taken a huge risk.

"There are scars, Mary." He said it gently, obviously worried. "Someone used a whip on Matthew, and I am quite sure it was a member of the peerage. The details...I think whatever happened was vile and unfair if only because at best, a mishandled horse, a bad footman, a decent employer fires the chap. But... The important question, to me, is who was he working for? If this was 1914, I could believe Matthew could turn up at someone's estate and no one would know him. But a year ago? Matthew wasn't a mystery. He was well known. And frankly if someone turned up here speaking like he does and looking for work, I would ask questions about why he was looking for work on an estate. I don't know where he could have gone where someone wouldn't have questioned his appearance." 

"And why wouldn't they have said something?" Mary said, understanding his point instantly. "It was Christmas time last year, we could have had him home with us months ago. He would have been that much more recovered. And instead..." 

"Instead, he is scarred in body and spirit, and Clarkson said he was quite adamant about not looking for work at estates, that he understood how unacceptable he was. Which means it’s even luckier he managed to end up in Manchester, since he certainly wouldn’t have gone to any more estates for work after that." Robert gripped her hand reassuringly. "I intend to find out what happened and who is responsible.... But I do think this should be kept between you and I, Mary. Whoever it was will soon know that Matthew is back with us, and that his memory is impaired. I don't want whoever it was aware that I am looking into it." 

"What can you do?" She knew what she wanted to do to whoever had hurt Matthew but murder wasn't legal. 

"It's not legal to flog one's employees, not even if he killed a lord's horse, which I doubt. Frankly, there’s any number of things about the story that don’t make sense. That it was Matthew who suffered makes it worse but I can't stomach the notion that a peer is out there terrorizing his servants." He hesitated. "I doubt, because of how questionable Matthew is right now, that he'd stand up as a witness in a trial but I will see to it that whoever did this is punished." 

"Make sure I'm not there," she warned. "Because I will kill whoever harmed Matthew. I mean that, Papa." She put her hands to her face and began to cry. "Oh Papa, I so want to hold him and make it better and yet I can tell he would just feel like an animal caught in a trap." 

Her father hugged her. "He will get better, Mary, and you're right, Matthew is there, inside and I think if we are gentle, he will recover."   
~*~ 

"This is very nice," Matthew said. He set the book down on the small side table. Like the library, the bedroom seemed fancy and expensive. "Have we met, Mr. Bates?" 

"Yes, we have, Mr. Crawley, and it's just Bates." Bates gestured to the wardrobe. "I unpacked your things." 

"It seems silly," Matthew said. "I have two shirts and I am wearing one." 

"It makes for a light day," Bates said with a smile. 

It came to him suddenly. "You're Lord Grantham's valet. And you.... Were in jail..." 

"You helped get me released," Bates said. "And I was Lord Grantham's valet but Lord Grantham asked me to take you on, while he will be using Mosely, who used to be your valet." 

"So you were demoted. I'm sorry." He felt terrible. Being the valet to an earl was an honor. Being a valet to the earl's defective heir was a step down. A big step down. 

"In some households, yes, but not here. Had you not had the accident, I had intended to change places with Mosely because my wife is Lady Mary's maid and your schedules usually coincided." Bates smiled pleasantly as he spoke. 

"But..." He stopped himself. "I'm sorry.... I have questions but I feel like I might offend you if I ask them." 

"Unless you said something unkind about my wife, you will not offend me, Mr. Crawley." Bates said. "As you will eventually recall, I have no right to judge anyone I know. Please ask." 

"Won't it reduce your status, among the other servants? I... Worked at a large house, not as large as this... And this is a demotion." He was certain of that, as certain as he was that there was a strict pecking order in the servants hall. 

"A valet is a valet. Whether I am your valet, or Lord Grantham's, it's not a demotion. It isn't as though I'm a hall boy. And yes, in some estates, this would mean I was the second ranked valet, but you need not be concerned about that. Mosely is a friend of mind, and Mr. Carson respects me, and Lord Grantham is my friend as well. I can hold my own." He smiled slightly. "What did you do at the large house?" 

It took him off guard. "I was a footman. Sometimes, I had to fill in as a valet... There were a lot of parties... I think it was the holidays." He shrugged. "The others didn't like me, because his lordship hired me. They made it clear I wasn't very good at the work." And he had still been in a daze, truth be told. He could fix the time to the Christmas holiday because of the decorations, but it hadn't been until the spring before he could track more than a few days before and ahead. "I wasn’t very good at it. I was always in trouble or being punished for something. I dropped things. I was fired." 

Bates nodded. "Some people see new employees as a threat. What name did you use?" 

"John." He shrugged again. "People tend to roll their eyes when you say you don't have a name. At that house, I was John Fox..." and that was far too unpleasant of a thought. "That was when they weren’t calling me you there, the stupid daft footman. After there, I just used John Smith at places that needed a name. A lot of places don't." 

"I know," Bates said companionably, "but I know I generally found those sorts of places unpleasant. You are very lucky to have found your way back, Mr. Crawley." There was a gong sound. "That is the dinner gong." 

"I don't have anything else to change into," he said after a moment. And what he was wearing, while far nicer than anything he'd worn recently, was a casual suit that Dr. Clarkson had bought him in Firsk after just measuring him. Somehow he doubted showing up in his other clothes, that he'd walked from Manchester in, would work. 

"Everyone is aware of that.” Bates said it easily. "Lord Grantham has a tailor coming in tomorrow to have you outfitted, but for now, I can make sure you look decently attired. As I said, it's an easy job. Tonight will be very casual for dinner. Just the family. I doubt very much that his lordship will do any entertaining until you're more settled in." 

That made perfect sense. Lord Grantham probably wanted to make sure he wasn't going to embarrass the family.   
~*~ 

Tom Branson never thought that his first meal at Downton Abbey could ever be topped for painful awkwardness, but it was almost amusing to see it play out before his eyes. The only part that wasn't amusing was that Matthew looked like a frightened animal caught in a trap. Mary was keeping well away, and Isobel wasn't, and Tom could see where those two would clash soon enough. It was a miracle, he agreed with Robert on that, but he also agreed that it was a more difficult problem than it looked. Physically, Matthew looked well enough. A bit thin and hollow eyed, like when he had leave during the war, but well enough. As Robert had said, his left hand looked a bit dodgy, the fingers curled, but he could hold a glass and it looked no worse than Barrow's bad hand. 

But as a working man, he could see where it would have put a man at the end of the line for jobs, even if he had skills. He doubted anyone other than possibly Isobel understood how difficult it would have been. Judging by how his own brother hired at his mechanics shop, people tended to hire family and friends first, and then looked for men with skills and good references. If Matthew didn't remember his name or anything about himself, he'd have next to no skills to bring to the table. A terrible thing really, because if Matthew had simply bankrupted the estate the way Robert nearly had, he still could have gotten work as a lawyer or a teacher or an accountant, even a secretary if nothing else. A come down, but not a huge one for a man raised the way Matthew had been. 

Robert was already more optimistic, he'd even said as much before Matthew joined them, that once Matthew relaxed and felt comfortable, he would seem more himself even if he wasn't certain of who was who. He'd also warned them that while Matthew did have moments where he recalled things, it wasn't always accurate or in context. The important thing was that he was remembering things from before the accident. Tom had gone to the village library and looked up amnesia. There wasn't much, and it was a bit technical but he understood that Robert was right, and that it really was a shame that Matthew hadn’t just woken up in the morgue and asked for help. The village people were already in an uproar about it, that their deceased loved ones were likely, if not more likely, to be robbed of their final possessions. If it could happen to Lord Grantham's heir, it could happen to anyone. If Matthew had just been found alive in the morgue, with no memory of himself, it was still a tragedy, but the family would have been spared a lot of pain. 

And the death duties. He made a mental note to himself to ask Robert about it. It was unprecedented but with Matthew alive, that was one expense they could be rid of. 

"So Matthew,” Cora said pleasantly, "do you like your room? If you don't, just take a look around and find a room that pleases you. We have plenty of space." 

"It is a lovely room," Matthew said as he toyed with the remains of his meal. It hadn't escaped Tom that Matthew wasn't terribly clear on the names of everyone at the dinner, but was still aware of what fork went where. From what he had read, that made sense, even if it likely worked against Matthew. Fancy upper class manners and speech would mark him out as either someone who had fallen on hard times, or someone slumming. He suspected that if Matthew was given some legal paperwork, he'd have no trouble with it. Matthew looked nervous though. That was new, and Tom felt a wave of sympathy for him. This is how I felt, he reminded himself, that first night, like they were all watching me. That they were much more likely to forgive Matthew any transgressions didn't make it easier. 

"Have you had any...? Flashes of memory?" Robert asked. 

"No.... Not really," Matthew said. "This room seems very familiar, and I knew Mr. Bates wasn't originally my valet, but nothing significant." 

"You shouldn't worry," Isobel said reassuringly. "Remember, that's exactly what you said seven days ago, that your name just seemed familiar, and then memories began to reappear. It just took a bit of time. You shouldn't pressure him, Robert. It's only the first day." 

"It’s a fair question, Mother, not pressure. Lord Grantham was quite nice about my not remembering which of his daughters I married. It's... Not unreasonable for people to ask questions. You ask me questions quite a bit. I won't break." He smiled slightly. "And if I did break, how much worse could it really get? Really?" 

Mary laughed. After a minute, so did Tom. It was funny, the way Matthew was. Robert smiled as well, although Isobel seemed to struggle slightly before she also smiled. It struck Tom as odd but then he recalled something Robert had said, that Matthew had been calling his mother Mrs. Crawley. She was likely overwhelmed that he'd called her that, as naturally as he ever had. 

It also eased some of the unspoken tension. It was helped that Cora, of all people, seemed determined to maintain the air of a normal day, with talk of the beginning of planning for the winter holidays. Dinner finished and Robert suggested drinks, a rarity when they weren’t entertaining but Tom suspected Robert just wanting the good mood to continue. He personally was tired and he suspected Matthew was as well, that and probably not used to having wine with dinner and then drinks of hard liquor after. He’d been drinking his entire life, he was Irish and beer and whiskey were known commodities but it could catch one off guard if it had been a while and alcohol had always been the first thing to go when money was tight.

“If you leave the glass half full,” he said quietly to Matthew, “Robert won’t insist on refilling it.” Matthew had actually taught him that trick after one too many evenings where he’d barely made it up the stairs to bed. “Otherwise, he’ll drink us both under the table.”

“Thank you,” Matthew said, “My head is swimming already.” He looked at Tom quizzically. “I didn’t want to ask but… aren’t you the chauffer? That Lady Sybil liked?”

Tom smiled reassuringly. Earlier memories coming back first meant that Matthew had probably been wondering all evening why they were eating dinner with one of the servants. “I was the chauffer, and then I married Lady Sybil. I help Robert manage the estate since I know a bit about farming. You helped set that arrangement up.”

“Oh.” Matthew nodded, although Tom got the sense he was surprised. “I don’t recall that, obviously.” He gestured towards Mary, Edith, and Rose, who were huddled up with Cora, Violet, and Isobel discussing the upcoming holidays and how awkward it was going to be to explain Matthew being alive. “Perhaps you can help me? I know who Mary is… But which one is Edith and which one is Sybil? I can’t help but think something isn’t right but I can’t… “He clenched the glass and closed his eyes as if thinking very hard. “I don’t know which is which and I know I should.”

It was an unexpected punch to the gut that he hadn’t been prepared for. He steeled himself, because even after two years, it was still difficult to say. “The woman with the reddish blonde hair is Edith and the blonde haired girl is Rose MacClare, who is staying here while her father, Lord Flinchley, is in India. Sybil… died. She died having our daughter.”

“I… I’m so sorry,” Matthew looked stricken. Stricken and shocked. “When…?”

“Two years ago,” Tom said sadly.

“But…” Matthew seemed to gather himself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Yes, you should have,” Tom said after a moment. “Sybil liked you. You two were friends. She would want you to remember her, and to remember the things you did with her. I sometimes need to remind myself of that as well, that Sybil would be sad if I only remembered her final moments. You said it yourself, you won’t break. Neither will I. What do you remember about her?” Not what she looked like if he was mistaking Rose for her, but it was hard to expect anything when it had taken almost a year for him to remember his name.

Matthew shook his head as if to deny anything and then smiled. “She was at some rally, and got hurt, and I got into a fight… and you were there, and she was so worried that you would get into trouble, she didn’t even notice that her head was bleeding. Then…. “And then he sighed. “It just trickles away… But I do know you.” He seemed both pleased and worried, if it was somehow going to offend him.

And Tom was not going to have that. “Good. Because we were friends, and I missed you, and I’m glad you’re alive.”  
~*~  
It was amusing to him, in a way, how having Mr. Crawley back had somehow eased the household work load, but Charles Carson had to admit, the last week had been very light indeed. Of course, part of it was that Lord Grantham had put a halt on any entertaining at all until Mr. Crawley was “less out of sorts”, but part of it was a certain feeling, a lightness in the air. It was certainly good to see Lady Mary happy again, even if she also seemed quite worried.

She had reason to be worried, of course. Mr. Crawley was a sad miserable mess who clearly didn’t remember much of his prior life except for his manners. The poor fellow barely made a move unless someone told him to join in. It was painful at times to see the man barely able to look anyone in the eye. 

He’ll get better, Carson told himself. Lady Mary was certain of it, and he had confidence in her assessment. He agreed with her, that it would take time and gentleness and allowing him to find his footing. He took a seat in the servants hall, for the afternoon meal. It was pleasant and unsurprising until Mr. Crawley walked into the hall.

To give the man credit, he realized instantly that he’d committed a faux pas although he obviously had no idea what the faux pas was. “I… Lord Grantham wanted some tea brought to the library.” He looked around at everyone standing, a blush rising to his face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to disturb you….”

Carson was pleased to see Mrs. Hughes take the lead. She gestured for people to take seats. “It’s no disturbance at all, Mr. Crawley,” she said pleasantly. “It’s just a surprise because you just need to ring the bell and one of us will come to see what you need.” Mrs. Hughes looked at Bates for confirmation.

Bates nodded. “The bells are right by the electric light switches, Mr. Crawley. Did I show you?”

A kindness, Carson realized, because Bates had talked to him about making sure Matthew knew how the house worked, that he didn’t want to assume the man remembered the way the house was run.

“Yes… yes you did, Mr. Bates.” If anything, Mr. Crawley turned even redder. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt you all. Lord Grantham would like tea in the library.” He looked down at his feet and then turned. He managed to make one step before he crashed into Daisy, who carrying soup. She managed to fling the hot liquid away from herself and Mr. Crawley.

“I’m so sorry!” Daisy cried, even as the dishes hit the floor. She dropped to her knees, and Carson was horrified to see Mr. Crawley drop almost as quickly.

“It’s my fault,” Mr. Crawley said, cringing on the ground, carefully gathering the broken pottery. “Please don’t punish the girl, it was my fault. I was the clumsy one not her.” 

The worst part, Carson realized, was that it was Mr. Crawley who looked terrified at being punished, not Daisy, who knew beyond her outburst that it was an accident that couldn’t have been helped. “It was an accident, Mr. Crawley. “ Carson said quickly. “Daisy won’t be punished.”

“There was no way to avoid it, it happens all the time with this doorway being here, people going in and out,” Mrs. Hughes said helpfully. She knelt down and began picking up the pottery shards and then put her hands on his shaking ones. “It was an accident, Mr. Crawley. We don’t punish people for accidents. Isn’t that right, Daisy?”

Oh please let the silly girl say the right thing, Carson prayed as he glared at Daisy. She looked at him and then at Mr. Crawley and gulped nervously. “It was no one’s fault, Mr. Crawley. Sometimes…. Sometimes people run into each other. I won’t be punished, isn’t… isn’t that right, Mr. Carson?”

“Of course, Daisy,” Carson said carefully. Even if it hadn’t been the damaged heir to the earldom who had caused the breakage, it was the sort of accident that happened with new hall boys and maids, it wasn’t unusual at all. He didn’t applaud when the staff broke things, but there was carelessness and accidents and part of his job was to know the difference.

Mr. Crawley looked at him, terrified, and flinched. “Let me help you clean up,” he said worriedly to Daisy. “I’m so clumsy… I’m a big bloody oaf who breaks things all the time. I’m rubbish at being useful, all thumbs and dropping… I can barely move without breaking something….” He looked up at Carson fearfully. “It *was* my fault, please don’t blame the girl, Mr. Carson.”

It hurt. It hurt him to hear such a thing, especially from any man cringing on the floor of the servants hall of Downton Abbey, because it told him how unpleasant and lacking in honor other estates were. It hurt to see a man he had never disliked once he had understood how honorable the chap was about everything cringe in fear at the very sound of his voice. Someone had taught Matthew Crawley to profoundly fear the wrath of the butler of an estate and it hurt him and angered him beyond belief.

“Mr. Crawley,” he said carefully. “It was an accident, and I don’t punish anyone for accidents. Daisy is in no trouble for this. You should… go upstairs and remember that this sort of request is something you need just ring the bell for.” He gave Bates a look and the man nodded. It was awkward, because he was skilled enough to see that at some point, Mr. Crawley had worked for a very bad master indeed, but it was not something he wanted the younger servants speculating about. Better to get the man out of the servants hall before things got worse. But he couldn’t allow one thing to stand, not in his house “I feel I must correct you on one point, “ and he ignored that Mr. Crawley flinched back. “I’m the butler, I work for you, Mr. Crawley, not the other way around. You should call me Carson, not Mr. Carson.”

But….” Mr. Crawley looked nervously at him and Mrs. Hughes. “I am sorry. I didn’t…. I didn’t mean to break things.” He stood, but kept his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry to make a mess, I always make a mess… Truth be told, I am just a walking mess, making more work for everyone but… Lord Grantham wants tea in the library.” He looked up for a moment. “I’m so sorry.” He spun on his heels and left.

There was a long pause where no one said anything. “That poor man,” O’Brien, of all people, said finally. She looked around at the table. “We all know he’s been mistreated. More’s the pity it’s likely been our kind more than his.” She looked harshly around the table. “I don’t pretend to be better than anyone else, but Mr. Crawley was never unkind to any one of us, was he?”

“No,” Mosely said, “He’s a good man, the worst moment I ever had with him, he apologized almost immediately. I don’t like seeing him like this,” and Carson was pleased to see it was followed by nods all around the table. 

“Mr. Crawley,” Carson said carefully, “Has been badly treated and used all around, I suspect he’s far too used to people being unkind…. Perhaps something we could all strive for is some kindness towards him?” He was pleased to see nods all around, even Thomas for a change. With that said, he turned his attention to Bates. “You do realize O’Brien is right? I know the story we’ve been told is that he was working as a laborer,” and was in and out of work houses which was horrifying, “but that man has been in service in someone’s household. The signs are all there. Does Lord Grantham know?”

Bates nodded. “Lord Grantham is well aware of it, and has been attempting to find out where Mr. Crawley was this last year. Unfortunately, Mr. Crawley, along with not remembering very much before his accident, doesn’t have distinct memories of the time directly after. The head injury is more than what it seems. He didn’t simply hit his head, completely forget his entire life but otherwise stay the same man.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Bates?” Mrs. Hughes asked. She glanced at Carson and frowned. “I’m not asking to be nosy, Mr. Carson. If he’s not well, we should know.” After a moment, Carson nodded to Bates to continue. If they were going to help, all the facts needed to be on the table, at least to the senior staff. 

“He admits that he was quite muddled,” Bates said. “He wasn’t able to follow time or keep track of days. The estate work was very early on and he knows he was at a house that had a name, that someone was in charge but all the names are… beyond him.” Bates hesitated. “He knows very clearly that certain people rank above each other in service…. He’s quite bothered that I switched places with Mosely because he sees it as my losing a position, and worries far too much that Mr. Mosely and Mr. Carson will take the opportunity to be cruel to me.”

“Oh my goodness,” Hughes said. “Doesn’t he remember anything? I’m sure I have heard Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley talking about how much better he is.”

“He is remembering things, Mrs. Hughes,” Bates said quickly, “but it is colored by the last year of his life, and I think Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley and even Lord Grantham see progress in things that aren’t necessarily his remembering things, but just figuring out that they want him to act a certain way. I mean…. “ He sighed. “What he said to Daisy…. I’m sure he heard big bloody oaf often enough that he thought it was his name. I’m also quite certain that breaking a dish was never considered an unpunishable accident, and what he does remember is people lying to him and tricking him, and treating him badly because they could. So please do warn Daisy that he will come looking for her to make sure Mr. Carson didn’t take her out to the woodshed and beat her. Until things are clearer in his head, he is quite… nervous. Nervous, and worried that he’s being tricked or teased, because even though his thoughts are connecting, he mostly remembers the mistreatment.” 

Carson sighed. “I would not wish this on anyone, but it seems especially cruel that it is Mr. Crawley suffering so needlessly. You really think he believes I’d strike one of the women over a broken dish?”

Bates shrugged. “I’m certain he thought you were going to strike both him and Daisy over a broken dish. He has not talked much about it but I doubt a day went by in that household he worked in where he wasn’t beaten for some reason. He told me that for a very long time, he thought his name was You Stupid Daft Footman. I will reassure him on the point, but please make sure Daisy knows he’ll likely seek her out and ask her about it.”

“I will,” Carson said. He began to set his mind to considering what estates he knew of where he didn’t trust the staff.

~*~  
Robert stood when Bates entered the room. Mosely had the afternoon off, to visit his father, and it seemed like a convenient way to talk with Bates. It avoided offending or concerning Mosely, who genuinely was a good valet if a bit of a sad sack, and it allowed him to borrow Bates without it making anyone suspicious. 

“Do you have anything?” he asked.

Bates shrugged. “Nothing that seems significant. You do understand I can only press so hard before he’ll question what my motivation is… and he’s quite quick to be suspicious of questions about where he worked. Frankly, your lordship, he is quite nervous with servants. I am trying to build his trust but it will take time.”

“What have you found out?” It had been two weeks. He had positioned Bates with Matthew for several reasons. Bates was steadier than Mosely, and it was more convenient for him to be more aligned with Anna’s schedule. But Bates was also a keen observer and the sort of fellow that people just naturally talked to. 

“He worked at an estate. He says it was the Christmas holidays, but he also admits that he wasn’t able to keep track of time well, that days and weeks just flowed by. He says it was just a few weeks, but… I think it had to have been at least three or four months.” He waved his hand. “Even at the holidays we don’t entertain as much as he described. Parties every night, and guests constantly arriving. He also told me that he was hired by the lord of the house, who seemed to favor him, which made the other footmen resent him.”

“And you don’t believe him?” That was the impression he got.

“Forgive me, Lord Grantham,” Bates said after a moment, “but aren’t we doing this because you don’t believe him?”

“I believe he’s concealing something, not out of malice but out of fear.” At Bates’s questioning look, he asked tiredly. “He hasn’t undressed in front of you, has he?”

“I’ve seen the scars if that’s what you mean,” Bates said after a moment. “You think it happened on the estate he worked at?”

“He told Clarkson that, that he was demoted from footman, sent to the barns to work as a groom and mishandled a horse. I believe he was punished by a peer, on an estate but….” Robert looked at him. “It sounds off. I’d never demote a footman to a position outside the house, for example. It breeds discord, and it suggests I don’t trust Carson’s opinion. And if the issue was his hand and his ability to do the work, I can’t see working as a groom even being an option. Although his hand really doesn’t seem to trouble him.” It was something he didn’t quite understand. Matthew was quite sensitive about it but it caused him no real problems.

“With respect, your lordship,” Bates said, “Have you asked him to pick up a heavy tray? As it happens, I agree with you. He was very lucky it was his left hand and not his right, and he has adapted well. I haven’t seen him struggle. On the other hand, the injury has had more time to heal. A fresher injury hurts more… But even then, I wouldn’t think, in a good household, that there would have been no issue. If I ignore who he is to your family, if I just look at his ability to do the work… Mr. Carson would be more put off by his accent and how educated he sounds than by his hand. Also he didn’t tell me any story about being a groom. He told me he was hired as a footman and was often used as a valet and that the other servants didn’t like him because he was hired by the lord of the house and favored. And that he was fired because he dropped plates and platters too many times.” Bates hesitated. “I am quite certain the scars on his back don’t represent the only time he was physically punished, Lord Grantham. You and Lady Mary, and Mrs. Crawley don’t see it, because he tries very hard to not react badly, but he is very frightened of you, and of Mr. Carson. He expects to be struck for errors. He didn’t learn that from one out of the ordinary beating. What he has talked about is that he was constantly being chastised and punished. He doesn’t mention how but I have to assume it was physical and by the other servants, if not the master of the house as well.”

“Which seems odd if the master of the house favored him.” Of course, he’d nearly fired Bates over the other servants squabbling but in the end he hadn’t. That Matthew wasn’t telling the same story was also interesting.

“And there is the other possibility,” Bates said carefully. “You do wish me to speak plainly, correct?”

“Yes. Of course.” It did give him a chill, because he didn’t see any other possibility.

Bates hesitated. “Mr. Crawley is a good looking man. Handsome. He would look well in livery and he speaks well and is well mannered. It may not have been the *master* of the house who favored him. He also has an air of well, being slow to catch on, that I think comes from the head injury. He’s said as much that he was in a confused, befuddled state where the days didn’t make any sense to him and that he was often mocked for being daft in the head. Even in the best of times, Mr. Crawley was always a bit innocent about women. In a confused state, he might not have realized it was the lady of the house who favored him.”

“You’re suggesting a highborn woman decided to cavort with a man she thought was a simple minded servant simply because he was handsome?” Robert didn’t like it, but he had to admit, it put things in a different light.

“It might not happen in this house,” Bates said easily, “but you know I’m not suggesting the impossible. It would explain someone taking a lash to him. It would explain other servants striking him out of jealousy. He certainly would have been blamed for any indiscretion, and while he might not have understood at the time, he probably understands now that not only has he committed an indiscretion, he’s committed adultery as well. Which leads me to ask, how far do you want to pursue this?”

That was a good question as well and he decided to take Bates into his confidence. “The problem, Bates, is that Matthew was well introduced to the peerage. I can’t think of anyone who owns an estate within three hundred miles who hadn’t met Matthew and known what he looked like. I accept your theory as to why Matthew himself might not want to pursue this, but someone employed him, knowing how he spoke, and looked at him and had him wait on guests, possibly for months. And said nothing, but took pains to savagely beat him and terrorize him. We have spent a year in mourning when we could have had been helping him heal. I don’t understand why no one would have said anything.”

“Again, if I may speak freely?” Bates waited until he nodded. “I consider us friends, sir, but I am not Mr. Carson. I do not worship your family and I can consider the idea that not everyone likes you or Lady Mary, or Mr. Crawley. You didn’t lose your estate, when many others have, and that was due to Mr. Crawley. Lady Mary led many men on while she and Mr. Crawley made up their minds. And you see the peerage as you see yourself, honorable and unlikely to enjoy petty revenge whereas I can see where a peer, forced into a smaller home after the war, might find it amusing to see a member of your family brought low. Especially Mr. Crawley, not even a gentleman by many of the peerage standards. In many ways, he’s been almost too lucky for words.”

“Lucky? Surely you’re joking.” Talking with Bates was always intriguing, Robert realized. The man was far more clever than people realized.

“Not at all,” Bates said. “You’re not looking at it with jealous eyes. He was never meant to be an earl, and yet he will be. He’s managed to maintain his estate, in part because of his taking advantage of new ideas and in part because of a very lucky inheritance. He was severely wounded in the war and yet is fully recovered. He’s married to a woman that was highly sought after. Your household has been very lucky because of Mr. Crawley. You’re not petty minded but many are. There’s many a peer who would be amused at the idea of making the heir of Grantham serve them… and a few that would indulge themselves if the opportunity presented itself. Imagine, having the lucky fellow who got everything you wanted for yourself, bowing and scraping to you and not even knowing he was humiliating himself. It’s small minded and petty… and I must tell you, sir, your peers are not beyond petty, small minded cruel revenge. Using your son in law as a servant, letting the other servants torment him, essentially keeping him captive the way a child keeps a spider in a jar, playing with it by pulling its legs off… A guess, whoever the head of the house was, they realized after a while that the joke would backlash badly if they were found out. Add an unwitting indiscretion, and frankly I’m surprised Mr. Crawley walked away with just a set of scars and a terror of estates.”

The problem was that Robert could see it play out. The possible indiscretion made it awkward. He didn’t consider himself a man with enemies but Bates did sum it up well. The Grantham family, even with Matthew dead, was doing far better than any number of families, with debt and dead and wounded sons from the war, and widows everywhere. He still had an heir in George, he still had a well-endowed estate. There were many who had neither, and Matthew returned from the dead, even damaged, made them luckier than most. Particularly since Mary was right. Underneath the skittishness and the fear of giving offense, Matthew was there. Bates’s theory also explained why Matthew was so skittish and fearful and so convinced he was terrible at everything. Hazy about the time frame or not, if Bates was right, he’d spent most of his early recovery time being treated like a piece of trash. Add in the months tramping around the countryside, in and out of work houses, and doing whatever menial job he could find, it was no wonder Matthew had been looking quite shell shocked the last few days.

Plus, it was possible there was no real indiscretion at all on Matthew’s part. Bates was right, there were petty minded and hateful members of the nobility. A wrong look, a sudden realization that the lady of the house liked the new footman, servants were punished for less. “I still want to know where he was . Did you find out anything else?”

“He would have been using the name John Fox at the estate, and John or John Smith the rest of the time. He remembers the last six months fairly clearly and was moving steadily from west to east hoping to find something that seemed familiar. He was in Manchester for about a month, and couldn’t shake the feeling he knew the place, so he kept going through the neighborhoods.” Bates smiled slightly. “For such an unlucky man, he does have the luck when it counts.”

“It’s hard to call it that but you’re right.” Robert said. “If he says anything that would let me pin down where he had been, make sure to see me.” He wanted to know who it had been. He had already narrowed it down to about ten different places. He might not be able to go after them but he damn well intended to find out who it was.  
.~*~

“Matthew, what are you doing here?”

Matthew jumped at the sound of Tom’s voice. Not the chauffer, he told himself, the estate manager, and Lady Sybil’s grieving husband. And if the man was in the barn that held the household cars, fiddling underneath one, it just meant that he was working on the cars.

Because Tom liked cars. He knew that, suddenly. “I was just… looking around. Dr. Clarkson was by, to check on me, and he and Mrs. Crawley… Mother wanted to talk… about me, I assume.” He wasn’t entirely certain on that point. It wasn’t as though he had made any progress at all. He felt quite foolish most of the time. No one made fun of him, or even asked him to lift a finger but aside from things feeling oddly familiar but not, he doubted there was anything for Dr. Clarkson to say. At least about him. He had the suspicion, not a bad suspicion, that the two older people were using him as an excuse to spend time together. It was sweet. And it let him get out of the house and away from all the stares and questions.

Tom stepped away from the opened engine. “Does anyone know where you are?”

“No…”

Tom smiled almost instantly. “Good. You’re a grown man, you’re not ill. If you want to walk around the estate, you don’t need anyone’s permission. Technically you own half of the estate, already.”

“I know… Robert and Mr. Murray explained that. I didn’t really follow how that had happened.” It wasn’t explained. People had been told by Dr. Clarkson to not explain things that they knew, in hopes that he’d remember on his own, so the not very helpful explanation had been that ‘something’ had occurred that had led to his owning half the estate he was already in line to inherit. It irritated him, partly because the ‘something’ seemed quite significant, and partly because he had the sense whatever it was made Robert awkward. “Mr. Murray said there would be even more paperwork to sign before everything was put back in my name, and removed from George’s and Mary’s.” He smiled, despite himself. Little George amazed him in that he’d never suspected that someone as useless as he was could have produced such a perfect little child. “Mr. Murray finds me quite amusing. He likes that I read the paperwork before I sign it.”

“I wish his lordship would do that more often,” Tom said. “I’m glad he’s making sure to get you back into things.”

“But… I didn’t work here before, did I?” It had puzzled him. Looking through papers and discussing the finer subtle points of inheritance law with Murray had been… almost remarkable. It hadn’t escaped him that Robert had simply sat and waited for the two of them to discuss the problems and go over the law books. It had felt like he was capable, that he knew something and knew it well, even if he couldn’t recall where he had learned it. “I was a lawyer, and I didn’t work as a lawyer here but I did… I did corporate law, mostly. I helped with Bates’s murder trial but criminal law isn’t my specialty.” He waited a moment. “I’m right, aren’t I? I didn’t work here. I didn’t even live until I was married…. Except after I was wounded….” The flash trickled away, and for a change he didn’t feel like chasing down the memory. The flash was of being in one of the first floor bedrooms, stuck in a wheel chair, and somehow it was darker and more awful than anything else he’d ever known. A different memory flashed suddenly, almost as if his brain wanted to be kind for a change. “You were at my wedding… You and Sybil…” It went away, again as if he missed his chance to grab the memory before he fell off the cliff in his mind. He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could just... grab ahold of my thoughts and make them stay.”

Tom smiled. “You worry too much, Matthew. You’ve been back two weeks. No one is expecting miracles, not after receiving the best miracle of all. You seem better, more yourself. I’m done here. Would you like to come with me into town? I have to pick up something for Sybbie and bring Cousin Violet out for dinner tonight. We could have a beer at the pub, and you could find something at the toy store for George.”

It did sound fun, and bringing George a treat just felt right but… “I can’t. I don’t have any money.”

“You don’t?” Tom seemed more surprised than he would have thought.

“I used everything I had to get here, and I still had to walk most of the way.” He shrugged. “I had a few pence left but I left the coins at Dr. Clarkson’s… He did so much for me.”

He was surprised that Tom bristled at that. The man covered it well. “I’ll spot you… I know you’re good for it, you do own half the estate. Come on, you deserve a bit of fun. We’ll take the car.” Tom held out the keys. “Do you want to drive the Rolls?”

Matthew fought the flinch he could feel rising. “I can’t… I can’t drive…. I don’t know how. And my hand…” The few times he had been in a car in the last year, he had realized that it was something he’d never be able to do. No one would ever trust him with a car, and Robert’s taste in cars was expensive. “I don’t… I don’t think I can shift the gears….”

Tom looked at him quizzically. “You do know how to drive, Matthew.”

“And this all started with me wrecking a car, didn’t it? Obviously, even if I did know how to drive, I’ve proven beyond all doubt that I’m not very good at it.”

~*~  
It was too early for anyone, even the servants, to be up, and yet she could hear someone quietly rooting about. Mary found herself dressing quickly and simply, because she realized exactly who was up. It was Matthew, up before the sun had even risen. It was far too early to be up without a purpose. Before the accident, Matthew hadn’t been one to lounge in bed unless it was Sunday morning. On days where he worked in Ripon, he was up and about but it was too early, the sun wasn’t even up. That made her curious as to what he was up to. It hadn’t escaped her, since his return that he was very quick to conform to whatever behavior he thought was expected. She didn’t like it, even Isobel didn’t like it, because it came from fear. That meant though, that he typically showed up for breakfast when everyone else went. Which made it odd for him to be up at five in the morning. 

She followed him as he went down the stairwell. Then he slipped out the front door. What are you up to, she wondered as she opened the door. Her initial fear, that he had gotten it into his head to leave, was relieved when she saw him sitting on one of the benches in the yard. She considered leaving it at that, and then decided against it. She hadn’t been pressuring him, she genuinely believed if she pushed him to be affectionate, all she would have was a man who felt forced to be with her, but at the same time, he was sitting outside in the predawn dark. 

“What are you doing up so early?” she said easily as she took a seat next to him.

He jumped in surprise. “Lady Mary, I… hope I didn’t wake you.” He looked down at his feet. “I didn’t sleep well so I thought I would at least see the sun rise.” 

“You didn’t wake me,” she lied. “Why didn’t you sleep well?”

“I kept having a terrible dream,” he said after a moment. “There were people, men, screaming and shouting and guns were being fired and I was running forward even though I was terrified, and the world exploded and then I was lying on a hard plank, on a boat, I think, and there were wounded men everywhere, screaming in agony. Everything was filthy, I was covered in vomit, blood, my own filth, and I kept wanting to get up but I couldn’t, and sometimes I could hear the doctor talking about me that he hoped I’d die before the boat arrived, since my life was over anyway.” He shuddered. “It was so real, I could smell and hear it all like it was happening.”

“You were dreaming about the war,” Mary said after a moment. That had happened before, although he’d never told her any real details. To go by what Matthew said about it, the war had been an occasionally dirty, unpleasant camping trip with Germans shooting. He’d never spoken so openly about it before. “You were in the war, you know.”

“Dr. Clarkson and Robert both said that. That I was badly wounded.” He chuckled suddenly although Mary didn’t get the impression his thoughts were that amusing. “Robert said it was much worse than even this, how I am now, and I thought, at the time, he was just trying to make me feel better. The memories that trickle back…. It seems much worse than now.”

“It was much worse,” Mary said. Despite her own rules of engagement, she took his hand, the one that was scarred, and held it. He was trembling and after a moment, he squeezed her hand. It surprised her, and gave her heart. He had been so closed off. “First you were missing, and then it took weeks to get you here, so you could be looked after, and you were paralyzed. You couldn’t walk, you thought you would never have children, you were filled with despair.”

“You were there… and… Lavinia.” He looked at her quizzically, until she nodded. “And she died, and we were supposed to be married and I treated her so badly.” He sighed. “I am quite the curse to be around.”

“I liked Lavinia,” Mary said after a moment. It pleased her to know she was being honest. “You and I… we’re far too much alike, we’re at our best with each other when we’re at odds, but Lavinia suited you.” He had been honest with her, he always had, and Matthew’s lies were usually lies of avoidance, like not telling her about the war, so it was time for her to be honest as well. “I should have backed away, because she would have been a much better wife for you. You would have argued less, at the very least. She loved you very much and you loved her and I couldn’t leave it alone because I loved you. And then she died and you felt terrible and I felt terrible because I had ruined your happiness yet again.”

“Again?” Then he nodded. “I asked you to marry me, before the war and….”

“And I hesitated, like a fool, and lost years with you. And when I thought… when I thought you had died, I thought it was my punishment, for being so foolish and for hurting Lavinia.”

“You’re not exactly winning a prize in marriage now,” Matthew said.

She squeezed his hand again. “Yes, how awful it is, my husband is alive, holding my hand, reminiscing about the number of times he asked me to marry him.” She leaned into him, grateful that he didn’t flinch away for the first time. “I hope at least you’re no longer convinced we were forced to marry. “ 

“I suppose we weren’t,” he said after a moment. “But you still have ample grounds for divorce.” Then he smiled.

“Are you flirting with me, or picking a fight?” she asked.

“With us, isn’t it usually both?” He chuckled. “Or am I misremembering things?”

She had to laugh, in part because he was right and because he seemed so much like himself, it almost hurt. “It’s so funny,” she said after a moment, “I feel like I have gotten to know you more in the last few weeks than since we first met.” She gripped his hand. “Does it still hurt?”

“My hand?” He let it close around hers firmly. “Sometimes. Not now. When I do the stretching exercises Dr. Clarkson showed me, my fingers hurt quite a bit but otherwise, only if I have worked all day or if I’m not careful with how I pick something up.”

“What kind of work did you do?” She had an idea but she wanted him to know she didn’t care.

“It’s only the last six months that are clear… before that, it’s all hazy.” He shrugged and seemed to relax against her. “Mostly farm work. I cleaned pens and stalls. I picked apples. I loaded boxes onto trains. I fixed roofs. I did roadwork. Roadwork was good because it would last a few days. If there wasn’t work… sometimes I slept in churches, or at workhouses.”

“How terrible,” she said reflexively.

He surprised her by smiling. “It wasn’t nice but it was much better than starving or sleeping outside. I walked here from Manchester and I slept in fields off the road, and every night I would be freezing and telling myself how stupid I was being. And every morning, the sun would rise and I could remind myself that I had to at least try to find out who I was.” She could feel him tense up. “I don’t know how to describe it except that I was so intensely alone, it was worth freezing cold nights in fields and nothing to eat just to try to find someone who knew me. I… I was so lonely.” He said it like he was ashamed to admit it.

“I was, too.” She said it without thinking. “Not in the same way, I don’t pretend to think it was the same but…. Oh Matthew I missed you.” Despite her own concerns about pressuring him, she kissed him. Much to her surprise, he returned the kiss passionately and in seconds they were embracing as if there had been no lengthy time apart. And she didn’t care in the slightest.  
~*~


	3. Chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note - I know its unlikely there would be a shooting party near Christmas time. I confused it with local hunting season

It was, Isobel thought as she saw Matthew and Mary smiling and snickering at each other at the dinner table, the sort of miracle that she had never dared hope for two months earlier when Dr. Clarkson had conceded that a mistake had been. She had meant it when she had told Matthew that she would have been grateful if he was alive but with no memory of himself. It would have saddened her, she didn’t deny it, but she would have accepted it. That she didn’t have to accept it was the miracle. Clarkson had been right, it hadn’t come all at once, but Matthew was much recovered. There had been some sort of breakthrough a few weeks earlier, the “floodgates” as Matthew called it, had opened. There were still gaps and Philip said the time right before and right after the accident would probably never return to Matthew in any clear way. But... he remembered his childhood clearly and most of his adult life and he and Mary seemed to have turned a corner. They were easily affectionate, the way they had been, and Matthew had lost the cringing, fearful mannerisms that had worried her. A lot of that had been due to cruel treatment coupled with the terrifying knowledge that his story of not knowing his own name meant that no one would help him or take his side. That was something to think about when she resumed her work with the downtrodden, how easily Matthew’s self-confidence had been stripped from him, and how difficult it had been to get it back. It wasn’t fully back, either. She had the unpleasant suspicion that whatever had reduced him to the trembling, frightened man that had turned up on her doorstop, barely able to look her in the eye was probably going to be a part of him forever. Robert thought it was poor treatment, and she agreed, but Robert was, in an oddly charming way, surprisingly naïve at how ugly people could be to one another. It bothered her but as she watched Mary and Matthew at the table, it was something she was willing to let rest. That bit of darkness was Matthew’s to own and share if he wished. 

She did plan to address one potential problem as Cora merrily planned the holiday season. “Cora, you do understand that any guest you invite is going to be unable to resist asking Matthew questions?” There had been a few guests to the home, some specifically invited by Robert to establish and reinforce the legal reality that Matthew was alive. That had been an awkward business all on its own but Matthew had been prepared for them to ask questions that were for the most part rather personal.

“Mother, I’m not made of glass,” Matthew said after a moment. He smiled at her. “If someone asks something awkward, all I really have to say is that I don’t remember. It’s not even lying.”

“And perhaps the sordid details of sleeping in fields and digging ditches can be glossed over,” Violet said quickly.

She was amused, and pleased to see Matthew push back against Violet’s often blunt directives. 

“Cousin Violet, I won’t lie about where I’ve been or what I was doing,” he said after a moment. “I worked. I got paid terrible wages for very hard, honest work and people with more money routinely did their best to see to it that reasons were found to cheat me. People thought I was… slow, or daft, and they would refuse to pay me and if I went to the police, I would be the one who ended up in trouble, or in the workhouse, because rich people just have to say poor people are lying. I’m not going to lie about it because it has occurred to me that if people had been a little kinder to me, I might have recovered faster and this,” and he gestured around the table, ”our family reunited, might have been happened all the sooner.”

“Well said,” Cora, of all people, said. She stared down Violet and then smiled at Matthew. “Matthew is right. I’ve wondered, more than once since his return if some of the people I see in the village who look down on their luck aren’t just people who have no family to turn to. I think perhaps that’s something we should all think about this holiday, how incredibly fortunate we have been and how that all stemmed from Isobel’s old neighbor being kind to someone. Maybe something we should all do this season is be kind to someone less fortunate.”

Well, aren’t you the clever one, Isobel thought despite her own irritation. Not only did Cora save Matthew from a tongue lashing by Violet for being too liberal, she also deftly reinforced the fact that Matthew was right, all while turning the conversation back to the holiday plans instead of letting the dinner discussion devolve into how cruelly Matthew had been treated. It was irritating because it was probably the most honest comment he had ever made about that time, and as much as she knew the Crawley family loved her son, none of them really wanted to hear the truth. None of them but Robert, and he had already confessed to her that without Matthew’s help, they were probably never going to know who had whipped Matthew.

And she wasn’t ready to admit that she’d rather not know, since she suspected the knowledge was wrapped around that bit of darkness in Matthew’s mind. She wasn’t sure petty legal revenge was worth making Matthew confess it, whatever it was. She was more worried that answering the same questions from multiple guests would lead to Matthew’s temper flaring. The legal niceties were over, and that had been a painful business, and his temper had flashed more than once although he’d been able to control it. She wasn’t a fool about what the holiday season was really about. Robert had to reassert that everything was normal in his household. That meant there would be a lot of parties, with bigger guest lists than normal. It also meant she had to attend more of the parties since she wasn’t moving back to Crawley House until after the holidays. And that meant….

“You really do need someone to partner with, Isobel,” Victoria said, without a hint of her usual tone. “It’s so much better when the numbers are even.”

“Unfortunately, I am far too old to go chasing after a partner,” Isobel said.

“Why don’t we ask Dr. Clarkson, Cousin Violet?” Mary said, a self-satisfied smile crossing her face.

“Why would you ask Dr. Clarkson,” Isobel asked, feeling completely mystified. “I know he’s been around quite a bit but I didn’t think any of you had been socializing with him…” She had wondered if the man was a bit lonely, truth be told. There weren’t any men in the village with a comparable education. She was surprised that everyone, even Rose, seemed amused. “What is so amusing?”

Everyone tittered. Finally, Matthew said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Mother, Dr. Clarkson fancies you. Why do you think he comes out here every day?”

“Because… you’re his patient and he worries about you because of the whole terrible misdiagnosis and the months you spent digging ditches and eating out of soup kitchens.” Clarkson had certainly apologized to her enough about it.

“Are we back on that?” Violet said tiredly. “The ditch digging? Isobel, your son is right. Clarkson clearly fancies you.”

“He does not,” Isobel shot back, her face reddening with embarrassment.

“Mother,” Matthew said carefully,” I haven’t needed to see a doctor for anything in six weeks. My recovery has really had little to do with any medical treatment, Dr. Clarkson was right that it had more to do with being around familiar things, but he comes out almost every day. He says hello to me, I tell him I’m fine, and then he finds you and you two go for a walk, or have lunch, or whatever it is that you two do. I agree with Cousin Violet. Dr. Clarkson fancies you. “ 

It was strange how awkward and exhilarating it was.

 

~*~

“So who is coming to this party?” Matthew asked. “Anyone I know?” That meant anyone he needed a reminder on, Mary realized. He was better at covering the gaps than people gave him credit for. Isobel and her father both had a tendency to pick at him, asking him to recall picky details of times and events most normal people would have forgotten anyway. There were things she wished he remembered, that was true. Most of her pregnancy, the trip to the Flinchshire estate… it was all too close to the accident but she wished he could remember it because he’d been so happy. At the same time, she suspected if those memories returned then so would the memories of his time after the accident, that hazy, murky period that seemed so painful.

“Mostly people you’ve seen in the last month,” Mary said. It occurred to her as she spoke, just how sneaky and subtle her father had been in inviting guests. Almost everyone showing up to the shooting party had already seen or spoken with Matthew, at small dinner parties or luncheons. Most of them had seen Matthew after the breakthrough he’d had that early morning six weeks earlier. It was a miracle, really, that he seemed so much better. She had worried, she could admit it now that he remembered most if not all of his life, that he would stay the damaged soul that her father had first brought home, afraid to argue or disagree with her. She still saw shadows of that in him. He was better, but there was still 

Her father was still looking for whoever had brutally whipped Matthew, and she wanted them found as well, but she didn’t want it to happen at Matthew’s expense. Matthew shied away from questions about the scars. He didn’t remember it clearly in that he couldn’t put names to people or places. She believed him because she had seen him have the same problem with other memories that were close to the accident. Intellectually, he understood that he had met Rose during that hazy period right before the accident, but only really recalled meeting her his first night back at Downton. So as much as it irritated her, and her father, there was only so much they could expect. She had gleaned a few clues. He had worked in a large house, an estate that wasn’t nearly as large as Downton. Whoever it was entertained quite a bit but in a way that seemed almost exclusively male. She found that odd. It was hard to scare up enough men for a dinner without throwing an out of the ordinary party the way they were doing. He recalled waiting on large groups, card games that went well into the evening, and guests who invariably forgot to bring their own valets. He also recalled being worked like a dog, that there was always someone shouting at him, or cuffing him about something not being done or being done incorrectly. The staff treated him like a useless dimwit. To listen to him talk, and it was rare that she could steer the topic there, he spent most of his time working his fingers to the bone while the other servants mocked him mercilessly for having a bad hand or for doing something wrong. “The few you haven’t seen in the last month are people I don’t think you’ve ever met.”

“Oh please do point them out,” he asked as he took a seat near her vanity. “It would be nice to have a few people who aren’t testing me every other moment on whether or not I recall what they just said. Who is it that I’ve never met? I mean, I do have these memories of dinner parties. Wasn’t I trotted out to meet all the gentry?”

“And quite bored by the whole business, but do try to look interested this weekend.” She waited a moment. “There’s at least one you might like. Charles Blake… he’s been doing estate surveys this last year and has all sorts of clever opinions. He quite liked the pig idea that we implemented while you were… what are we calling your absence?”

“Well, we’re not to refer to my digging ditches or living in the streets like a poor person, but I don’t think Cousin Violet ever designated an appropriate term. “ Matthew smiled slightly. “Why would I like Charles Blake?”

In an instant she realized her error but decided to press on. “Because when I met him, even though he looks nothing like you, he reminded me of you so much, it hurt. He was one of the few people who, I don’t know, broke through my shell of despair.” And it occurred to her that description probably would lead to more questions.

“Were you seeing him?” Matthew asked, his tone curious. He leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, and watched her prepare herself. “It doesn’t offend me if you were. You thought I was dead, you had every reason to think that. And… I certainly hope it doesn’t come up again anytime soon but… I wouldn’t want you alone your entire life.” He frowned suddenly, and she could see his thoughts weren’t entirely on her. “My mother did that, you know… My father died and she locked that part of her life away, never allowing herself to see that it was possible to be happy with another man. Maybe not the same way, but I worry that she’ll never know, and that this last year was probably a nightmare of grief for her. ”

“It was.” She said it simply. “I was… too involved in my own grief to even care, but Grandmama was quite worried about your mother.”

“I don’t want that for you, you do understand that?” Matthew sighed. “Anything can happen, Mary. I could die tomorrow. I could be hit by a car, again. Or I could be shot, or just keel over from a heart attack. You should remarry if I die.”

“This is a nicely morbid discussion to have just before we welcome guests to the house for the weekend.” She wondered what had gotten into him. “You’re not going to die, Matthew. And if you did manage to wreck another car and kill yourself, after I personally check the casket, I will consider myself free to marry if only because I would have earned it after burying you twice. And while I think it’s extremely unlikely that I would die before you, I do agree with you. I wouldn’t want you to be alone and I wouldn’t expect it. And if you are planning on keeling over, would you at least write a will this time?”

“I already have,” he said with a grin, “and you didn’t answer me. Were you seeing him?”

“I was… thinking of seeing him. He was so offhand with his interest. Not like Tony at all.” Oh damn it, she thought.

“Tony?” Matthew’s eyes twinkled. “Who is Tony? I don’t ever recall meeting someone named Tony. Is he coming to the shooting party?”

“Oh good lord, he is coming.” Mary felt a moment of panic and fought it down. It was just awkward, Tony had been nothing but gracious and glad about Matthew’s reappearance in her life. She hadn’t seen him since that luncheon in London, months ago. They had spoken, he had even charmingly asked after Matthew in his letters to her, but she suspected he was quite hurt. Why had Mother invited him, she wondered. Charles was bad enough. “Tony is Anthony Gillingham, and I know you haven’t met him. And he was quite smitten with me and was one of the first to congratulate me on finding out that you were alive. So please be kind.”

“I promise I will be very nice to your boyfriends.” Matthew said, grinning. “Are there any others or just the two? Did you invite Sir Richard Carlisle to make things extra awkward? And anyone else that I haven’t met?”

“They weren’t boyfriends, Sir Richard politely declined and wished you well recovering, and there’s only Philip, the Duke of Crowborough. Mother said he managed to invite himself and she couldn’t really say no without being rude. He actually hasn’t been to Downton since just after Cousin Patrick and Cousin James died. Right before you moved here, and he hasn’t been back since.” She laughed suddenly. “Goodness, that was over eight years ago.”

“You didn’t like him?” Matthew asked. He seemed oddly puzzled. “The name sounds familiar…”

“You might have heard Papa grousing about him.” She checked her jewelry in the mirror. “I didn’t dislike him… I just suspect I made a lucky escape. Papa and Mama were flattered by his title, and he was perfectly charming to me but when he found out Papa planned to let some silly lawyer from Manchester inherit the money, the land, and the title, the Duke found me far less interesting.”

“He was a fortune hunter, then.” Matthew said. “Did he ever marry?”

“Yes, now that I think about it. Some rich American woman who let him use her money to reestablish an estate. Then she died in childbirth, along with the baby, and he’s been quite hidden from view since.” She hesitated. Matthew looked surprisingly nervous. “You will do just fine tonight.”

“I just…” He looked away. “Sometimes it’s not as easy as it seems.”

It made her suddenly fearful. “Matthew, no one is going to make fun of you if you don’t remember something about them.” As much as it offended her and her father that someone was running a household where servants were routinely beaten, it hadn’t escaped either of them that Matthew rarely mentioned anyone being pleasant or even fair to him at any of the jobs he’d done. There was the Mrs. Evelyn Morris that they owed so much to, and who had no idea what she had done when she had sent Matthew to them, the poor dotty thing. There was a road team leader that Matthew had worked for who he had recalled being kind, who had made a point of making sure the road boss paid Matthew fairly and that Matthew wasn’t taunted for his injuries. Her father had seen to it that the man was rewarded for his kindness but stories like that, where someone had been kind, were rare. Otherwise the stories, when they came, were depressingly similar, people refusing to hire him for anything but backbreaking labor, calling him stupid and worse if his thoughts didn’t connect, routinely being tricked out of wages and beaten if he protested. It made sense, how fearful he had been, when they had poked him with questions that he couldn’t yet answer.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

“You know you can ask me anything, Matthew.” She took his hand.

“On Christmas day,1915, in the salon, what conversation did we have?” He waited a moment. “Well?”

“What?” It was so out of the blue, she couldn’t even think. “I don’t know.”

“Well, why do people think I would know?” He sighed. “I feel like I am letting everyone down when I can’t just instantly recall every moment of every day, but I don’t think I was ever capable of that to begin with. It’s… intensely frustrated.” A note of anger edged into his voice. “And people might not make fun of me, the way they did when I couldn’t even recall my name, but they are judging me as some sort of mental cripple every time I can’t recite exactly what I was doing on May 15, 1920.”

“I don’t think that, and that’s what’s important,” she said after a moment. It was far too late to call off the party, people were likely arriving at the train station already. “You are far harder on yourself than anyone else. And you’re right, people need to stop pestering you about every little thing. You can say you don’t know and if anyone fusses just ignore them. Or tell me or Robert.”

He shrugged and she immediately felt guilty. The truth was that they were all probably rushing things a bit and while Matthew was better, he was still struggling. On the plus side, it was probably the first time he’d actually complained about anything to do with his memory loss. The negative was that there was nothing she could do to help. The weekend party was going to happen. She would need to see to it that she was at his side most of the time if not all of it.  
~*~  
At least he’s as handsome as everyone said, Tony Gillingham thought darkly as he shook Matthew Crawley’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Crawley pumped his hand firmly. “The pleasure is all mine. Lady Mary has told me how kind a friend you were to her during my… unfortunate lengthy absence.” The man smirked at Mary, who was clearly found what he said to be delightfully funny.

“Grandmama will applaud, Matthew,” Mary said, almost giggling. “Don’t mind us, Tony. Violet has been at Matthew to come up with the best possible euphemism that doesn’t involve references to ditchdigging.” She looked over his shoulder. “Oh drat, Mama wants me to be pleasant to Lady Mercer. I’ll be right back, Matthew. Why don’t you two get to know each other?”

Interesting, Tony thought. It hadn’t escaped him at all that Mary had kept herself firmly at her husband’s side during the informal gathering. Let’s see if I’m right, he thought. Sure enough, the butler that was so fond of Mary almost immediately took up position nearby. So they aren’t too certain that he’s completely recovered, Tony thought “Having met the Lady Mercer, I can see why being pleasant is difficult. Have you met Lady Mercer?”

“I don’t recall,” Matthew said easily. He smiled. “I suspect I will be saying that quite a lot during this get together.”

“At least you have a sense of humor about it,” a new voice chimed. Why of course, Tony thought darkly as Charles Blake joined them, how best to make this awkward event even more awkward. He was genuinely surprised Mary’s old beau, Sir Richard Carlisle wasn’t wandering about. God knew the Duke of Crowborough was rumored to be coming, and he knew directly from Mary that the man had once courted her as well. 

Charles held out his hand to Matthew. “I’m Charles Blake. Don’t worry, you’ve never met me before. Lady Mary often spoke of you.”

Tony found himself watching with interest. Something was wrong. Matthew Crawley was looking at Charles Blake like he had seen a ghost. The man covered after a moment and shook Blake’s hand, hesitantly. “Lady Mary speaks highly of both of you….”

“She spoke highly of you,” Charles said brightly. “She said you were a lawyer. Are you going to be returning to that? Once the dust settles, so to speak?”

Matthew was taken back, Tony could see that. Mary had always described her dead husband as clever, but he was beginning to have his doubts. He certainly wasn’t thinking fast on his feet. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he said finally. “No one even suggested it…I suppose I should consider it.” Off by the fireplace, Mary was suddenly waving at him, no doubt to have him say hello to Lady Mercer. He nodded to both of them. “I should see to Lady Mary, if you will both excuse me?”

Blake watched Matthew retreat, his expression pensive. “That poor fellow is not as well as the Crawleys want everyone to believe.”

“Hard to believe we’ve both been thrown over for a shell of a man, a ghost that just happens to be alive,” Tony muttered. “You realize she has the servants watching him, don’t you? Who would of thought what she really wanted was a dimwitted puppet to follow her around. Admittedly he’s a pretty puppet. The photos didn’t do him justice.” That irked him as well.

Blake gave him a harsh look. “Try not to be too much of a jealous ass, Gillingham. We both knew that she loved her husband. If she’s happy then we should be happy. And I suggest you watch what you say. He’s not dimwitted at all, and neither is she, and neither are the servants she has keeping an eye on him. If his memory loss was even half as bad as people have made it out to be, the very fact that she can have a conversation with him is probably something she rejoices over. We both know war veterans who have come back far more damaged than poor Crawley. And he doesn’t seem dim at all, he seems nervous that there’s a lot of people around, all of whom are going to pester him with questions about what he does and doesn’t recall. I don’t pretend that Lady Mary and I ever spent a great deal of time on the subject of her dead husband because it seemed far too painful for her, but when she did talk of him, she made it clear that in some ways they were a mismatch. This sort of thing,” and Blake waved his hand at the slowly milling party attendants, “wasn’t the sort of thing he liked at all, and worse, this particular party is Lord Grantham and Lady Mary both making the point that he is alive and well…. And while you’re calling him dimwitted, he’s obviously aware that he’s on display. Accept the reality, Gillingham. It’s over. She has her husband back. She’s not going to choose you, or I. God has played a trump card against us both.” Blake gave him a long look. “She won’t like you better for taking against her husband, you do realize that?”

“I just can’t believe she’s happy with… someone who managed to forget her for a year. While digging ditches.” Tony found himself almost shaking with rage. “Bad enough when he was a lawyer, now he’s a ditch digger and odd jobs fellow. I heard he was even in workhouses… and yet that’s what makes Lady Mary happy. A ditch digger.”

Blake rolled his eyes at him. “Gillingham, if you genuinely believe that, then accept that she never would have been happy with you. And before you look down on the fellow for heaven forbid, getting his hands dirty working, tell me what work you’re qualified to do, if you were stripped of your name, your position, and your education. I mean really Tony, do you even know what your valet does?” With that, Blake walked away. 

She’s making a mistake, Tony thought as she let her husband take her by the arm. I will have to convince her of that.

~*~  
John Bates thought the lengthy party wasn’t a good idea at all. In theory, of course, it was a wonderful idea. Lord Grantham and the Crawley family certainly had more reason than most to celebrate the holidays, that was true, but it had also been a very long time since they’d had such a large houseful of guests. There was a certain worried atmosphere to the place, as if the week had to be successful or else something terrible would happen. Add in the fact that he definitely sensed that Matthew Crawley was much more stressed about the event than he was willing to let on, and he had a bad feeling

He had a bad feeling about Matthew anyway. The man was much more himself in many ways, and Bates doubted that Lord Grantham realized that Matthew was much better at being secretive when he was more himself. He rather doubted Matthew would have shared much with a valet even before the accident, Mosely had always found the man closed off and in some respects Bates found him the same way. Robert assumed that everyone was like himself, and since he had a warm relationship with his valet where he shared secrets and asked for advice, that everyone else did as well. Matthew hadn’t been built the same way, even before the accident, and as much as something was eating at the man, he wasn’t likely to share it with his valet. He did think Matthew trusted him, he just wasn’t sure if that was enough to prevent a problem if it arose.

It was possible it was just nerves. He wouldn’t want to run the gauntlet Matthew needed to run that night at the dinner table that was the truth. Carson, with his way of glaring down opposition, had shut down a lot of the visiting servants’ questions but it was clear that the main topic of gossip was one Matthew Crawley and his missing year and the whole tragedy of it all. That meant they would all be watching him, and Matthew, unlike a lot of the family, had an intimate understanding of how much the servants talked and judged. He wasn’t likely to get a reprieve from it from the guests either.

And some of the servants were simply annoying. Gillingham’s valet, Mr. Greene, was openly flirting with Anna and he didn’t much care for that. The Duke of Crowborough’s man was exactly what he expected, a well controlled ponce who knew how to play the part. But for the lighter hair and eyes, it was like having another Thomas Barrow in the house, and while the glares between Barrow and Hightower were amusing, it was also potential trouble. A part of him genuinely felt sorry for Barrow. He suspected there had been a time when Thomas would have wanted nothing more than to be the Duke of Crowborough’s valet, since it obviously provided more personal fringe benefits. Hightower in turn seemed pleased to flaunt his position in Barrow’s face. 

“Bates, you’re young Mr. Crawley’s valet,” Greene asked suddenly, during a lull around the servants dining table. “But wasn’t that different? Before, Mosely here was Crawley’s valet and you were Lord Grantham’s.”

“Quite the come down,” Hightower agreed. “Didn’t I hear he was actually waiting tables for his living, or was it digging ditches and building roads?”

Before Bates could even speak, Mosely sat straight up and looked ready to come to blows. “You will be respectful of Mr. Crawley at this table, and to Mr. Bates. Mr. Crawley is a fine gentleman and treated me kindly and with respect and I would gladly be his valet still if Mr. Bates had not asked me to change position with him. Lord Grantham is master of this estate, and Mr. Crawley will be master of this estate. There’s no come down in that. ”

“Thank you, Mr. Mosely,” Bates said evenly, surprised that the mousey fellow had such fire in his belly. “My *wife* Anna is Lady Mary’s ladies maid, and by changing position with Mr. Mosely, my wife and I see more of each other. And Mr. Mosely is correct. Mr. Crawley is a fine gentleman who treats the staff like he understands how difficult the work is.”

“And Mr. Crawley was kind before his accident,” a new voice piped up. Daisy, of all people, holding a serving bowl. “He was always please and thank you and may I help you, and he didn’t insist poor Alfred be fired even after Alfred ruined his suit. Lots of people would have. You shouldn’t say unkind things about him.”

Hightower smirked at her and then at Barrow. “So he’s not just a pretty little fox, is he? Good to know.”

And that was something to ask Barrow about. But the dressing gong sounded and that meant he had to check on his charge. Matthew was mostly dressed, Mosely had never really broken him to the habit of letting the valet do everything, but it was still his job to fine tune everything. “Are you ready for tonight, sir?”

Matthew smiled slightly. “To be honest, I think I’d rather be anywhere but here. But it has to done.” He carefully did his own cufflinks. Bates knew better than to ask if he wanted help. He had those moments himself, where he didn’t want help. For someone with a hand that didn’t work well, Matthew managed. “Bates, is everyone quite certain I haven’t met the Duke of Crowborough?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. He was never here when you were, and he wasn’t in the war. Why do you think you’ve met him?” It coupled with his own odd feelings about Crowborough and his valet.

Matthew shook his head. “I don’t know… I just get the impression he finds something very amusing about the whole business. He and his valet both. And….” He hesitated. “I need to ask you something in confidence, Mr. Bates.”

That was new. “Of course, Mr. Crawley.”

“I mean it.” Matthew stiffened. “I’m not so foolish as to think Lord Grantham doesn’t ask you about me. What I am about to ask you will certainly offend him. I know the answer, because I am certain Robert is a just and decent man but I admit that my… time away sometimes makes me overly suspicious. I just want to be certain I’m right. I know, because I remember that you’ve kept my secrets before, that I can trust you. I am not asking something dishonorable.” For someone certain he was right, Matthew looked surprisingly pale

“Then ask.” Bates said it gently.

“After the dinner and the after dinner drinks and talk…. The servants aren’t expected to be available for guests for… entertainment?” He turned red and looked away. “I was concerned about the younger staff…”

“Did….” Bates stopped himself. It wasn’t the time to ask such a question. “No, Mr. Crawley, your instincts about Lord Grantham do you credit. This is not a household where such a thing is required.” And the sudden relief in Matthew’s eyes told him just how uncertain the man had been. He’s not as better as they like to think, Bates thought, not if he’s that uncertain about what happens at parties in this house. That could be a problem.

“Please don’t tell Robert I had such a concern. It would offend him greatly.” Matthew’s tone was hesitant.

“Of course I won’t.” Bates reassured. Robert would be incensed at what that sort of question implied about where Matthew had been. At the very least he had no intention of raising the topic until after the party and the holiday was well over.   
~*~

Thomas normally would have chaffed vocally at having to wait tables like a footman especially for his grace the Duke of Bloody Crowborough but his senses had been tingling that something was up the moment Hightower the valet snickered at him. He wasn’t an idiot, of course. Hightower was the Duke’s current lover, and had been for some time. Thomas wondered if the wife had ever figured it out before she died. He rather doubted it. Philip was slick at covering his tracks, he always had been and that made it odd that he had pried himself out of his personal empire of an estate to attend a jolly holiday party held by a man who didn’t particularly like him. The wife had given the Duke the money he needed to ignore the rest of society. Thomas used to have regrets, regretting that he pushed too hard and lost an opportunity. Then he started to hear the rumors. What intrigued him was that he just couldn’t see what the end game was for His Grace. It wasn’t like he needed a lucrative marriage any more, and he hardly counted among the attendees that were purely friends and well wishers. And the one thing that he did suspect, he couldn’t see happening on several levels. For starters, he couldn’t believe the Duke would be so indiscreet. He also had no doubt that as pretty a man as he was, Matthew Crawley didn’t lean that way. At least not consciously. 

And yet as he made his way around the dinner table, it seemed obvious to him, if to no one else except Hightower, who seemed increasingly miffed, that the Duke was flirting with Crawley. Of course it was subtle, even a duke couldn’t proposition a man at a formal dinner party but it was there.

“I am looking forward to the hunt tomorrow,” the Duke said as he lifted his glass of wine and sipped it. “Are you quite well enough to attend the shooting, Crawley? I had wondered, what with your hand being a bit dodgy.”

That question irritated Lord Grantham, while it seemed like most of the guests were genuinely interested. There were a few of the war vets that Thomas was certain would need to be driven out to the shoot and propped up against a tree in order to shoot, with a man to hold their cane and gun and another to fetch the dead bird. Matthew in contrast had no issues. Thomas knew Robert had taken him out ahead of time, with Tom, to make sure there would be no problems. “I shoot with my right,” Matthew said easily, “and I do have some use of my left.” He made a point of lifting his wine glass with his left, not something he normally made a show of. “I count myself luckier than most. Plenty of men don’t even have left hands at all these days, due to the war.”

“You were luckier than most in the war as well, weren’t you? Didn’t I hear that you were paralyzed, in a wheelchair, for close to a year?” The Duke smiled pleasantly. “You’re like the clever fox that always just manages to elude the hounds, aren’t you? But then forgive me, it occurs to me that you may never have been on a fox hunt, considering your background. Or have you, Crawley? Have you been fox hunting?” He smirked at the man.

Matthew Crawley paled as if he’d suddenly seen a ghost and Thomas realized instantly how a piece of ugly gossip he’d heard in London connected to the Duke of Crowborough had some truth. You bloody bastard, he thought darkly. Philip had finagled an invite for the same reason he had come to visit eight years earlier. To protect himself from scandal. Thomas picked his side in an instant. Matthew needed a distraction to recover himself and unlike the Duke he had always been kind, and Thomas made a show of stumbling and dumping his full tray of salad onto Tom Branson. “I’m so sorry, sir!”

He could see Carson immediately turn red. “Barrow!”

“It was an accident, Mr. Carson,” Thomas fibbed. Of course it wasn’t, but it surely ended all the talk of fox hunting. Now, he thought as he made a show of cleaning up, I have to figure out what to do next. If I’m right then this is a bloody mess.  
~*~

Bates wasn’t surprised by the knock on his door in the servants quarters. It had been a busy and late night, one of the reasons he was sleeping in the house and so was Anna was that with so many guests, it was just better to be on call. He was surprised to find Thomas Barrow at his door looking pale but determined. “Mr. Bates, I need to speak with you privately.”

“Is this room private enough?” He didn’t fancy a midnight stroll outside with Thomas. 

“As long as we both agree to not raise our voices,” Thomas said. He stepped into the room and carefully closed the door. “I know you dislike me, and the feeling is mutual, but I will grant you that I have always appreciated your willingness to be discreet about certain matters.”

Oh lord, Bates thought tiredly. “Have you… had an incident with a guest?” He didn’t know what Thomas thought he could accomplish if the man had made a pass at a guest and been dramatically wrong about his assumptions.

Thomas smiled thinly. “How quick you are to think the worst of me. As it happens, this is a case where I have done nothing wrong. I need to ask you a question, several actually, about Mr. Crawley.”

“What’s your interest in Mr. Crawley?” It had to be something serious. “I didn’t think you had a problem with him.”

“I don’t. I rather like Mr. Crawley.” He held up his gloved hand. “We were in the war together, and he was one of the ones upstairs who didn’t let this or the business with James bother him.” He paused. “There are several rumors about that I need to confirm with you.”

“What makes you think I can confirm them?” Bates asked pleasantly.

“Because you’re his valet and you’d know, and because you’re obviously watching him for Lord Grantham.” Thomas waited a moment, until Bates nodded for him to continue. “During the time he was missing and we thought he was dead, did he work in service? At an estate?”

After a moment Bates nodded. “He doesn’t know where. I know he seems quite recovered now, but there are many gaps in his memories. Things that happened soon after his accident are… indistinct at best, but yes, we’re quite certain he worked as a footman on an estate.”

“And someone flogged him with a whip, hard enough to leave scars, on that estate?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” Bates said tiredly. Of course that particular thing was being discussed. “Are you going somewhere with this? Who has been spreading that around?”

“No one told me about the scars. In fact, I doubt very much that anyone aside from you knows that Mr. Crawley was beaten with a whip. Beaten, yes, we all figured that out, but flogged? No one suspects… I just know more about the players in this particular game.” He hesitated for just a moment. “It was the Duke of Crowborough’s estate, and his grace is here to see to it that Mr. Crawley keeps his mouth shut.” Thomas said that confidently. 

Crowborough’s estate was one of the ones that Lord Grantham had suspected. And under his own theory, Crowborough had plenty of petty reasons to despise Matthew Crawley. The man was going to inherit the earldom and had married the woman that the Duke had pursued, however briefly. Crowborough seemed the petty, high handed sort that would mistreat a servant simply because he could, and his valet seemed to go the same way, if not worse. But…. “Isn’t this a huge risk on his part? If anyone has any reason to keep their mouth shut, it’s the Duke. Mr. Crawley doesn’t remember who it was that treated him so cruelly, and to be blunt, it seems unlikely that the Duke of Crowborough had no idea who he was. Coming here just makes it more likely that Mr. Crawley will remember him and make an accusation. The Duke could plead ignorance about Mr. Crawley’s identity, although I think that’s unlikely, but he’d still be ostracized for savagely whipping a servant.”

“Which leads me to another question, although it’s more of an opinion type of thing.” Thomas took a seat at his desk and Bates sat down on his bed. “When Mr. Crawley was first brought here by Lord Grantham, before his memory began to return, I would describe him as quite fearful and very…. Very quick to do what he was told. Very aware that people had little patience for him or any questions he might have… Someone who understood that it was better for him if he just kept his mouth shut and went along with whatever was being handed to him. You know that sort of servant… if you tell them they’re expected to muck out the stable after they’ve got the table set, they run out and do it without even thinking because they’re so afraid of what happens if they don’t do as they’re told. Suggestible. ”

“The beaten down sort, yes,” Bates said after a moment. Anna had said that Lady Mary was quite conscious of it, that she worried about doing things with Matthew because she worried that he would simply let her be affectionate because he’d been told he was her husband and it was required of him to comply. “I think that’s fair. Even now, I wouldn’t say he is as confident as he was before.”

“And it was probably much worse right after the accident when he was still recovering physically and didn’t know what he was doing, or who he was….”

“Or what day it was,” Bates added. “Where are you going with this, Thomas?” He thought he knew and he hated the very idea, but he needed to be certain.

“You’re going to make me spell this out.” Thomas smiled and lit up a cigarette. “You know what I am. The Duke of Crowborough and I were lovers once. Long before the war. His valet is his current lover. When the Duke first rejected me… I was quite angry. Then I began to hear rumors that the Duke’s tastes had… grown more sadistic. I know Hightower, the valet, and I know the sort of things he enjoys.”

“Do I really need to know this?” Bates asked.

“Yes, because you have to understand, I am trying to establish that Mr. Crawley was a victim here. And might be in danger.” Thomas took a long puff on his cigarette. “In the society I run with, there’s a game we play. It will seem silly and offensive to you but as long as everyone is a willing participant, it’s quite fun. It’s called the fox hunt, Mr. Bates. Some of the men are hunters and some are foxes and everyone goes running into the woods. If a hunter catches a fox, he gets to blood the fox. Do I have to explain what that means?”

“No. Please don’t.” It made his skin crawl.

“The Duke and Hightower both always preferred the hunter role. In a friendly setting, someone who is a fox generally wants to be caught, it’s just a matter of by who. After the wife died, the Duke became quite reclusive on his estate and rumors began to spread that he…was starting to play the game in an unpleasant way. He would hire a pretty but simple servant and let his servants run the poor bastard ragged and then once everyone had their fun inside, they take the fellow out at night, they whip him bloody, and then… and then they let the fox go running. When they catch the fox, they all blood the fox and send him on his way. With a fairly stern warning, of course, that telling the authorities will just make it worse.” He looked intently at Bates. “I want you to understand, that is not something I approve of in any way. That night here that I was caught… I thought James was willing and I stopped as soon as I knew he wasn’t. What I just told you… it circulates because it’s a warning in our circles, to stay away.”

“That’s… sick.” Bates said after a moment. “And Hightower called Mr. Crawley a clever little fox at the servants dinner…”

“And His Grace bluntly asked Mr. Crawley if he enjoyed fox hunting at dinner. And Mr. Crawley didn’t react well, all things considered.” Thomas looked down at his feet. “Please understand I am not leveling any accusation at Mr. Crawley. I think he was not in any sort of mental state to understand that he was allowed to say no to certain things. I don’t know if the Duke knew who Mr. Crawley was… frankly I don’t know that he would have cared beyond amusing himself at the expense of someone with a high born accent and a probable war injury. But he knows now, and he’s here to warn Mr. Crawley to keep his mouth shut. Because if Mr. Crawley ever decides to press the point about being mistreated and whipped…. Then the Duke will take Mr. Crawley down with him. And might not get taken down himself at all. He is a duke while Mr. Crawley is just the heir to an earldom and a bit….questionable.”

“I hate this,” Bates said simply. “I hate this because you’re right. Mr. Crawley would end up the victim here, Mr. Crawley has been the victim here. If you’re right….”

“If I am right, Mr. Crawley was savagely whipped and then raped. And considering his mental state, he probably thought he somehow deserved it for dropping too many dishes, and it certainly explains why he’s so quick to do what he’s told. He probably thought he was being punished for something.” Thomas stubbed out his cigarette.

“It also explains why he avoided estates. And if he’d shown up at any other place, he would have been recognized and spared. Why do you think he’s in danger?” That was his slight disconnect.

Thomas shrugged. “The stories are from just a few men. Servants who ran away. You do understand that the Duke’s staff is almost exclusively male, don’t you? It’s part of why he’s so private. People don’t question much when he’s so rarely about. The problem with the stories is that…. There should be a lot of servants with stripes on their backs and there really isn’t. My thought is that most of the poor fellows who run this particular gauntlet don’t survive it. Tomorrow is a shooting party. Accidents happen, Mr. Bates.”

Bates understood that point all too well. “To make sure Mr. Crawley isn’t left alone, I would have to speak with Lord Grantham and tell him something. He’s not always quick to see connections.”

“Right, not always the sharpest tool in the shed.” Thomas stood up. “I’ll repeat what I’ve said to him, if it’s necessary. I just have a very bad feeling that the Duke has realized what a problem he has in Mr. Crawley remembering who he is and what he did. No matter how badly embarrassed and humiliated Mr. Crawley might be, he’s still the poor bastard who had no idea which end was up for the last year, while the Duke damn well knew better than to sodomize and beat his servants. Mr. Crawley might be ruined, but let’s be honest, being dead for a year has pretty much done that already. I just…” Thomas hesitated. “Do you think he does remember it?”

“Yes.” Bates said it simply. “I don’t think he remembers who it was, at least not yet but he said something to me earlier tonight… about what his lordship required of the servants with guests in the late evening. Between that and what you’ve said, I am sure he was used.”

He was surprised to see Thomas shudder. Then Thomas eyed his sharply. “What? You think if one does it, we must all like it that way? Tricking someone little better than a dullard into sex? Do I have to say it was wrong? I will. It was wrong. And it wasn’t wrong just because it was Mr. Crawley. It was wrong because it’s wrong to force someone to have sex. It’s wrong when it happens to a woman, and at least we call it rape when it’s a woman, even though we’ll still blame a woman for it, even if she was beaten bloody. When it’s a man… well…. Between you and I, we both know Mr. Crawley isn’t…. isn’t homosexual, and if you believe me, then you know he didn’t bend over and ask for it. So what do you think of him… now? Now that you know at some point in his life, your employer has had sex with a man?”

“Nothing less,” Bates said immediately. He gave Thomas a knowing look. “I don’t like you because you’re a sneak and a thief and a liar and the truth don’t make much difference to you on any given day, and I don’t like that. But if you like men, then you like men, and as long as everyone involved is making that choice, then it’s not my place to judge. If Mr. Crawley was tricked or forced, that’s different. As it happens, I understand your point, that ultimately if this gets out, no one will really care that Mr. Crawley was whipped and forced.”

“Raped. He was raped. When you talk about forcing… you make it sound too clean.” Thomas stood up and went to the door. “I meant what I said. If Lord Grantham needs to hear it from me, come and get me.”

“I will.” Bates said. It was hard to believe that the situation was far worse than anyone thought.  
~*~  
Charles Blake wondered suddenly if anyone at Downton Abbey understood how ridiculous the whole weekend was. It was ostentatious and silly, and for all that the family was happy that Matthew Crawley was alive and seemingly well, they didn’t seem to notice how pressured the fellow looked. He had a suspicion the last thing the poor man wanted to do was walk around the woods with a bunch of relative strangers.

He had accepted the invitation on a lark. Mary wasn’t what he thought, and he was willing to be a good sport since his own motivations towards her hadn’t been upfront. He had been wrong about her, not in a bad way. She was just exactly what she said she was, a woman slowly getting over the death of a beloved husband. He liked her and if he had been right about her, it would have been a good match. But he wasn’t right, proven in part by her obvious devotion to the somewhat nervous Matthew Crawley.

As he watched the couple at the pre-shooting breakfast, it also occurred to him that the photos of Matthew that Mary had shown him didn’t do the man justice at all. He’d told Mary that he’d never met her husband and at the time, looking at her pictures, he was certain it was the truth. Now, looking at the man alive, he was quite certain he’d met the man before. Photos didn’t capture Crawley’s eyes, they were a delightfully unexpected blue and that and the blond hair made him cut a dashing figure. Yes, he was certain he had met the man. Not in the war, and certainly not in the private circles he ran with in London but somewhere. He was certain Crawley had sensed it as well, the man had been startled the day before when they had met, and Mary had mentioned in her letters that the fellow tended to be surprised by his own thoughts at times. So where had they met, Blake wondered. As he watched, one of the servants bumbled into Crawley and Crawley dropped the glass he’d been holding in his bad hand. As Crawley knelt down with the servant and helped the poor fellow pick up the bits of glass, all while pleasantly reassuring the young fellow it was an accident, Blake realized exactly where he’d met Matthew Crawley. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” a new voice chimed beside him. It was Philip, the Duke of Crowborough, a person he knew and wished he didn’t. “Frankly, I would have thought this was the last place you’d be for the holidays.” He gestured to Crawley, who was still picking up glass. “I see they have cleaned him up but he still can’t last a meal without breaking something. I pity the servants here, I really do. I doubt Lord Grantham would allow them any protest in picking up after the pretty little oaf.”

“You should really watch what you say,” Blake said after a long moment. “I was invited by Lady Mary. We took a liking to each other during the last year. Had things not changed so dramatically for her, I might have pressed an interest in her. We’re friends. That’s why I am here.” He gave the Duke a cold stare. “Why are you here, your grace?”

The Duke smiled. “I was curious. And speaking of watching what you say, you might want to be careful as well. You’re hardly an innocent party. As it happens, I think we’ll both be lucky. They’re putting on a good show but he’s not all there.” Philip sniffed. “This is what happens when you let amusement get in the way of being clever. Hightower wanted him done away with, but it amused me to say no…. Hightower was so jealous of my foxy little footman.”

That was even worse than the ugliness Charles already knew about. “Why on earth are you telling me that?”

“Because, quite simply, Blake, you need to keep your mouth shut. I can ruin you. Crawley can ruin us both. I don’t intend to let him destroy me. I’m willing to live and let live if he doesn’t remember but I think he does… or if he doesn’t, he soon will. Apparently if you put him with familiar things, he starts to remember more. I hope you can see where that’s a problem.”

It wasn’t as much of a problem as the Duke thought, Blake realized with relief. “What are you intending?”

“Nothing, my dear Charles.” The Duke smiled more broadly. “But accidents can happen on these lengthy hunts. Don’t get in my way, and you won’t have to worry. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Blake said. The next order of business then was seeing to it that Matthew Crawley wasn’t murdered.


	4. Chapter four

It was unnerving, the maddening sensation that something was at the edge of a cliff in his mind. The very last thing he wanted was to leave the house and go traipsing around the woods but he was aware that his absence would be noted. Matthew paced around his room. Something was wrong, he was certain of that, and he was certain it had to do with the missing time.

It wasn’t all missing, of course. He remembered getting yelled at for dropping things, and getting struck for it, and being sent to scrub floors while the other servants ate and mocked him for being stupid and incompetent. He was always being struck and punished for something. The problem was that the more himself he felt, the more he saw those memories in a more realistic light. He hadn’t been terrible at being a footman, he had been constantly getting tripped and shoved and poked by the other servants. They had all been in on it, he realized that. Just like he realized that that the master of the house, who had often taken his side in the many petty disputes had really been teasing him and encouraging the servants to abuse him. 

He also realized that he had shamed himself by submitting to guests, and worse, to the fox hunt. No matter that he hadn’t known where that was going. On good days, he could simply blot it out and not remember it. There had been more good days than bad since his return to Downton and that was a blessing. He could go days without thinking of that time. Now though, it seemed to be the only thing he could think of. He knew what it was. He’d felt it before, except that he didn’t normally dread the end moment. The feeling was of being on a cliff and that something was tickling his memory. This time, he didn’t want to know. If he knew, then he had to deal with it and there was no way to handle it that didn’t bring shame down on the family. It was just… if there was a curse to memories, it was that they came unbidden and couldn’t be shut out.

He knew the Duke of Crowborough. He knew the valet, Hightower. He knew why they were mocking him. To them, he was John Fox, the daft footman that they had delighted in taunting. It was the Duke that had come up with the last name Fox. He hadn’t even realized that they were being cruel, he had just gone along because he’d been so clueless. He had even thought the Duke kind for occasionally stopping some of Hightower’s crueler punishments. That last night… He realized he’d been shoved from behind when he dropped the evening dinner tray, that it had all been a pretense just so Hightower could haul him to the barn and whip him. Then they had led him to the woods and made him run. There had been six men chasing him, he knew he hadn’t had a chance to get away. At the end, after everyone had taken their turn with him, Hightower had wanted to kill him but the Duke had told him no, that the pretty little fox knew when he was getting a favor. 

At the time, he’d been pathetically grateful, to not be killed for breaking a dish, just brutalized and left for dead. Now, now he felt insanely angry and sick to his stomach, and horrified that he’d stepped off the cliff of his memories into a terrible abyss. He sat on the edge of his bed and clenched his hands into fists. There was nothing he could do or say to change it, and worse, if he tried to demand justice, he would bring down ruin on his family.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he said softly. He assumed it was Bates, coming fetch him for the hunt. He stood as the door opened, but much to his surprise, it was Charles Blake. Mary’s friend. He was clever, Matthew understood why Mary thought they would get along. Under different circumstances, he would have agreed with her. Now though, with the events of the time at the Duke of Crowborough’s estate flooding his brain, it was the last thing he needed or wanted. Partly because Blake pushed him back up on that cliff in his mind

“I was hoping I could have a word with you, Matthew,” Blake said. He closed the door. “I have a confession to make to you.”

The memory came unbidden. “I know you,” Matthew said shakily. “You were at the estate for one of the parties. I… I had to act as your valet because you didn’t have one. And….” He sat down on the bed. “You were the one that let me sleep on the floor.” It had been a rarity, one of the guests being anything other than demanding and harsh. He’d been sent up to provide entertainment and Charles Blake had been shocked at the idea, and angry that if he returned to the servant’s hall early, that he’d simply be sent to another guest’s room. Blake had let him sleep on the floor of the bedroom rather than subject him to that, and insisted on that arrangement for the duration of the party. It had been a few days of relief. “I should thank you…”

“No you shouldn’t.” Blake took a seat across from him. “I came to see you, to apologize for being the worst sort of hypocrite. I was at that estate, and I realized very quickly that His Grace the Duke of Crowborough had tastes that I didn’t share. I also realized that while most of his servants were like minded, he was taking far too much delight in harassing a footman with an obvious head injury and a high born accent. “The man sighed heavily. “I didn’t realize until that evening that you weren’t…”

“To be blunt…”Matthew said hesitantly, his face burning with shame, “that never stopped anyone else, which is why I am thanking you.” He let his head fall into his hands. 

“You shouldn’t thank me for being a coward. I don’t deserve your thanks, because even though I didn’t know who you were, I knew something was wrong with you and that the Duke of Crowborough took far too much pleasure in taunting you.” Blake hesitated. “I should have taken you from that house, because I knew you were being abused, and I didn’t because I was afraid that my secret would be revealed. That I prefer men.”

“But…. Mary thought you liked her. That you were going to pursue her.” It was stupid but it moved the talk away from the unpleasantness.

Blake nodded. “I do like Mary, and had she remained a widow, I was considering pursuing her because… She already had a child so she wouldn’t expect much from a husband and I thought perhaps some of her reluctance to marry was because she was a fellow traveler. When you’re a man like me, you have to accept what society demands, that you marry and have children. It’s better if you can find a woman who is like minded. You don’t have to lie as much.” He waited a long moment. “I was faced with a moral choice and I failed you. Within hours of entering that house, I knew the Duke was a sadistic vile man, and I said and did nothing because I feared for my reputation. Not only did I leave you to be further harmed, I realize now how deeply I wounded Mary. I see her now, with you, and I realize how desperately unhappy she was without you. I owe you both a duty because if I had been a brave man instead of a coward, I would have taken you from that house, and someone would have recognized you that much sooner and the two of you would have been reunited that much sooner.”

“I… I don’t know what you think you could have done.” Matthew wrung his hands. “You weren’t the first guest I was sent to…” It was ugly to think about, the floodgate open and undammed at last. He felt sick.

“No, but if I had been a brave man instead of a coward, I would have been the last, and you wouldn’t have been put in the fox hunt.” Blake said.

“I thought… I thought they were going to kill me,” Matthew said, feeling oddly breathless. “I was… grateful they didn’t…” Worse, he’d been somehow ashamed, that he had failed at pleasing his grace. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t go near any estates because… I thought I was so terrible at everything, another job in service would just be as humiliating.” He took a deep breath. “I won’t tell your secret. When I remembered you, I remembered you as the nice guest. And we hadn’t met so you couldn’t have known who I was…”

“I appreciate that, especially since by rights you have every reason to not be that generous, but that’s not why I came to talk to you.” Blake took his hand and held it. “The Duke of Crowborough brought himself here to this party to see if you did or didn’t remember him. He’s certain you do remember him and along with meanly taunting you about it, he plans to arrange for you to have an accident on the shoot. So that you can’t reveal that he’s a homosexual and a sadistic monster besides.”

“But… why would I tell anyone? I can’t tell anyone this. I wouldn’t even be a man in their eyes.” He struggled to maintain some semblance of calm. “Mary would be disgusted with me. She would hate what I have become.”

“Oh Matthew…. “Somehow Blake managed to sound amused. “Would you ever willingly be with a man again? Where you chose it?”

“No! I didn’t… I couldn’t…” He wiped his eyes. “No. It was awful. It hurt. It hurt so much… I could never….”

“So you haven’t become anything,” Blake said gently. “You’re still a man who prefers women. And Mary is so much in love with you that I am sure her reaction to this would be to vow blood vengeance on the Duke.”

Matthew stood up. “Excuse me,” he said. Then he strode into the bathroom and began vomiting.   
~*~

Bates, like everyone else in the servants hall, jumped to his feet when Lady Mary entered the servants. “Don’t get up,” she said in a perfunctory manner, and went right to Carson. “Carson, was there anything new or unusual in the breakfast menu this morning?”

“No, milady, why do you ask?” Carson said easily.

“Matthew is quite violently ill. Mr. Blake found him in his room, retching uncontrollably. Dr. Clarkson wanted to rule out some sort of allergic reaction to something new.” She waited a moment and then asked. “I hope there haven’t been any reports of illness from the other guests?”

Carson made a point of looking horrified. “Of course not, Lady Mary.”

“Then it likely wasn’t the food,” Mary said worriedly.

Bates stood up. It was as ideal a moment as any, and it put off the unpleasant talk with Lord Grantham for a bit. “If I may, Lady Mary…. Mr. Crawley looked a bit peaked last night and this morning. I asked him if he was well, and he said he didn’t want to make a fuss, what with the whole weekend party.”

“And instead creates more of a fuss,” Mary added tiredly. “The way men usually do.” That set the maids tittering in agreement. “Carson please have some hot tea sent to his room. I’ll need to let Papa know that Matthew isn’t running around the woods shooting at birds when he can’t keep his breakfast down.” With that, she left the servants hall.

“I wonder what Mr. Blake was doing in Mr. Crawley’s room?” Hightower said as the servants began to chatter again. Bates wasn’t surprised to see Thomas raise his eyebrow at that, which meant it was time scotch any unpleasantness.

“Books,” Bates said to Hightower. “Mr. Crawley and Mr. Blake both read a great deal. Mr. Crawley mentioned he was going to loan Mr. Blake a book by that American writer, Jack London. The Scarlet Plague, I believe.” At the very least, that was the book sitting on the nightstand in Matthew’s room.

“I would have thought Lord Byron’s sonnets, considering their mutual tastes,” Hightower said, smirking. He stood up. “The hunt begins soon. His grace will be most disappointed to hear Mr. Crawley isn’t going to attend the shooting.”

I’m sure, Bates thought darkly. He waited so it didn’t seem suspicious, and then cornered Thomas in the butler’s pantry. “What was Hightower alluding to?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t tell you, because it’s not my secret to tell, but I will. Lord Gillingham was interested in Lady Mary because he wanted a pretty wellborn wife who would have children. Mr. Blake was interested in Lady Mary because he wanted a pretty wellborn wife who wouldn’t want him to bother her much in the bedroom… as he’s not very interested in that pursuit. Does that help?”

“You mean Blake is a….” Bates blinked and let it internalize. 

“Yes, and a guess, just a guess, is that he might have never realized that he met Mr. Crawley before this weekend. And Mr. Crawley remembers things better when he’s around things that remind him of the past. And when it’s an upsetting memory, like last night at the dinner table, he can look quite ill. My thought? If Mr. Crawley didn’t know what happened to him during that missing time before now, he’s probably figured it out now.” Thomas shrugged. “At least you can wait on telling Lord Grantham. “

“But Blake…. Didn’t strike me as the nasty sort.” In fact, he’d rather thought that Charles Blake was too nice a fellow to consider courting Mary Crawley. Tony Gillingham at least seemed willing to fight back. 

“Need I remind you that Mr. Crawley can claim to be a victim and would still be tarnished. He at least would escape being arrested. Anyone he accuses would not. Mr. Blake was probably begging him to not tell…”

“Begging him not to tell what?” Both men jumped. It was Lady Mary and her eyes were flashing in rage. “I came back down to see about the tea.” She closed the door to the butler’s pantry. “What do you think Mr. Blake was begging Matthew not to tell? And don’t lie, or pretend this is something so distasteful that a mere woman isn’t to know.”

Bates sighed. “Please understand Mr. Barrow and I were planning to speak to your father today about what we’ve discovered.”

“And what have you discovered?” Mary snapped. 

Thomas smirked. “Nothing that you’ll like hearing, milady.”

“I’ll explain, Mr. Barrow. Why don’t you find something to do?” He glared until Thomas stepped out and closed the door. “He is right, my lady. You won’t like it. It concerns… Mr. Crawley and the unpleasant scars on his back.”

If it was possible for someone’s eyes to actually flame in rage, Mary Crawley managed it. “It was Charles?”

“No, my lady. If anything I doubt he had anything to do with it.” He hesitated. “Lady Mary, did you know Mr. Blake was… a homosexual?”

Her eyes widened. “No, Mr. Bates, I did not. That is certainly not something he shared with me or that I suspected. What on earth would that have to do with Matthew?”

“I’m unsure. I think Mr. Crawley, in his… time away, discovered that fact, and Mr. Blake sought him out this morning to ask him to not tell his secret. Thomas is being nasty as is his tendency.” Bates wasn’t sure where to start. “Did you know the Duke of Crowborough was also a homosexual?”

“I know he’s a cold, small minded man who enjoys being petty with his power, but no, I did not know he is a homosexual.” She waited a long moment. “He has an estate. An isolated estate where he can do whatever he pleases and he’s never been one to care about the rights of servants.” Her eyes flared again. “He might not have directly met Matthew but I know we went to a few social events where he would have seen us together.” She seemed to suddenly put it all together. “My father soundly chastised him for fortune hunting, which would have been humiliating. He needed the money, and it all fell to… a middle class lawyer who didn’t deserve it. And while he had a loveless marriage and hid himself off in the countryside, that middle class lawyer ended up successful, with everything he originally wanted. And then that middle class lawyer turned up on his doorstep with no idea who he was… and that petty small minded man had a toy to play all sorts of nasty games with.” Her expression grew even darker. “I assume you’re mentioning that these men were homosexuals for a reason?”

“I’m quite certain the Duke… amused himself by hiring your husband as a footman and letting his servants and guests abuse him. Mr. Barrow believes, based on knowing the Duke, on having heard certain ugly rumors in the… social circles he is in… that your husband was violently assaulted in a game the Duke calls the fox hunt.”

Mary Crawley, Bates realized suddenly, was a much quicker study than people thought. “Matthew was the fox and the Duke and his valet and others were the hunters, weren’t they? And he’s throwing up in horror at the idea of having to let his family know that he has potentially shamed himself by at best unwittingly submitting to a man’s advances during a time where I am certain he was so suggestible he would have jumped off a cliff if someone told him to? And then he was violently assaulted and whipped, and raped by numerous men, at least one of whom we’ve been forcing him to make small talk with over drinks? Am I following correctly?”

Bates sighed. “Yes. I think that is accurate.”

“This party was a terrible idea all around.” She seemed to gather her thoughts. “Bates, please make sure Mr. Crawley isn’t bothered by anyone that is involved with this. Please do not bring this to Lord Grantham’s attention until Mr. Crawley has had time to prepare himself and until I have had time to speak with him and reassure him that I am not angry or disappointed with him.”

“You’re not?” He almost cursed himself for speaking without thinking.

Her eyes flashed, though not as severely as before. “You have such a low opinion of me, Mr. Bates. Tell me… John… if it had been Anna who had been sorely injured and who had disappeared for a year, would you be angry and disappointed in her for not remembering your wedding vows? Would you fault her for finding work under a cruel master who gave her no reason to think she could say no to his advances? Would you fault her for not being able to stop several men from beating her and raping her?”

“No, milady. If, god forbid, something even half as terrible happened to my wife, my only thought would be how much I love her and how angry I was at those who hurt her.” And how best revenge would be taken, but he didn’t want to give that idea to her. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded her acceptance of his apology. “If Matthew had simply woken in the hospital cold storage with no memory of himself, once I understood what his injury meant, I would not have touched him or expected him to touch me… Because until he remembered himself, he was like an innocent. Anyone that tricked him, or lied to him, or forced him under the threat of punishment, to do anything was being cruel beyond belief. And the fact that my husband has whip scars that still cause him pain tells me he was not a willing participant.” She took a deep breath. “My husband will no doubt spend the rest of his life feeling shamed by this even though he is not at fault. I will not add to that burden. Anyone who points a finger at Matthew over this will no longer be welcome in this house. If that means we become social pariahs, I don’t care. Matthew is my husband and I love him.“

“You do surprise me, Lady Mary. I didn’t think you’d be so kind. I thought you’d be worried about the scandal.” He was overstepping but he didn’t care. He had to be certain.

“Oh I’m worried about the scandal,” Mary said sharply, “But my husband is not to blame for that scandal. Anyone decent will see that. Anyone who doesn’t see it doesn’t matter. And the Duke will pay.”

“Lady Mary… “She glared at him and he knew he was well past being forward, but it had to be said. “If you are considering revenge, please consider how difficult it might be for Mr. Crawley to need to visit you in jail.”

That stopped her short. Thank god, Bates thought. There was only one way the mess got worse instead of better and that was if Lady Mary Crawley took a shotgun to the Duke of Crowborough. “The Duke will pay,” she said after a long moment, “but I will consider what you have said carefully.”  
~*~  
It was a surprise to see Matthew suited up for the shooting. Tom wasn’t sure it was a good idea at all, Matthew looked almost shaky. “Matthew, I thought you weren’t coming, that you weren’t well.” Robert walked over to them as well, looking concerned as the other men began preparing their weapons.

Matthew shook his head. “Mary was being silly. I’m well enough.” In a voice aimed low, so that just Robert and he could hear, he added, “For god’s sake, they’ve actually led poor Wilkenson out here. If a man with one eye, one leg, and one hand can shoot at birds, I think I can manage with an upset stomach.”

Robert fairly beamed at Matthew’s words, and didn’t notice that his pleasure only seemed to worry Matthew. Worse, as soon as Robert turned his attention to the other men, Matthew pulled him away and said very softly, “Tom, I need your help. When the shooting starts, we need to slip away and take one of the cars and I need you to drive me to my mother’s house.”

“But she’s at the Abbey,” Tom said. 

“I know. But there’s a phone at her house, and I need to use it, and I need your help getting there because I still can’t manage the gear shift safely.” There was an odd sort of determination to Matthew, something Tom hadn’t seen in what felt like years. Of course, he realized suddenly, this is what Matthew is like when he isn’t nervous or frightened that he’s about to cause a problem, and it had been a very long time since he’d seen Matthew as anything other than a somewhat nervous timid man. Something has happened, he realized, and while he suspected it wasn’t pleasant, at the very least Matthew seemed better in a way that made him glad.

It was almost fun to sneak back to the cars once all the birds were let loose. Just almost because he had a feeling something was wrong. He waited until they were in the car before he asked. “Why can’t you use the phone at the Abbey?”

“Because it’s in a public area and the Duke of Crowborough’s valet is watching me and I want to surprise his grace with an unpleasant revelation. By the way, tonight is going to be unpleasant.” Matthew said it firmly, but Tom could see his whitened knuckles clutching the car’s door.

“What’s going to happen tonight?” It sounded quite ominous.

“Do you know what it feels to have a bandage ripped off? It hurts a great deal at first but then you feel more agile, and the pain fades. You don’t forget the pain of course, but it has to be done. This morning, the bandage on my memory was ripped off. I remember everything. I remember the night my son was born. I remember what came after. I remember running out of the morgue, and jumping into an open box car because I thought I was in some sort of trouble. I remember stumbling up to a workhouse where the people who ran it cleaned me up and the man who ran the place said he thought I would suite the lord of the manor. Because I spoke well, and I looked the part. Did Robert ever tell you about the whip scars? That I got on the estate?” Matthew said it matter of factly, like it was obvious.

“No. Mary told me. She was worried because she thought Robert might push you too hard over it. Robert doesn’t… involve me in serious issues, you know.” It still burned him, how Robert was willing to return to using Matthew as his right hand man when until very recently, truth be told, Matthew had hardly been shining mentally.

“Yes. He favors my opinions and ideas because he can’t see past how you were his chauffer. I don’t make that mistake, Tom. You’re as clever as I am, better at the farm aspects of the estate, and frankly, there’s a good chance after tonight, you’re the one who will be left picking up the pieces.” Matthew relaxed just a little in the car seat. “There’s a reason I am asking this favor of you, and not of Robert. I trust you both, but you’re far cleverer than he is and even though what I am going to tell you is going to enrage you and will likely make you think less of me, you will immediately understand that right now the most important thing is mitigating the damage.”

On the one hand, it was good to hear someone in the family acknowledge him. On the other… “There’s nothing you can say that would make me think less of you, Matthew. If something terrible happened at the estate you worked at… Just by how you were when you walked through the door three months ago, we all knew something terrible had happened while you were lost. What was it?”

“I was used like…. Like a whore. By the Duke of Crowborough. Repeatedly.” Matthew was blunt. Tom was glad he had to keep his eyes on the road, because he didn’t want to let Matthew know just how shocked he felt. “The Duke of Crowborough’s estate is isolated and all of his servants are male and I think they were all in on the joke. Now that I remember, I can see how amused he was by the whole business. They made up all sorts of rules that were impossible to follow, and I was so befuddled, I just accepted it and thought I had to be the stupidest person in the world for not understanding what everyone else found so simple. I remember protesting at first, and I was told it was part of my job as a footman, to service his grace in any capacity the Duke saw fit. If I argued, I was beaten. I didn’t know I was allowed to leave, and the man at the workhouse told me I was being favored with a good spot and if I left, I’d be arrested.”

“And you were too confused to see that was a lie,” Tom finished. “That’s a nightmare, Matthew.”

“It gets worse.” Matthew kept his tone firm and in control, but Tom could tell they were talking about something painful and difficult. “I think the Duke kept me longer than others. I’m certain now he knew exactly who I was and was incredibly amused with ordering me about and having me beaten for any and all mistakes. I know I wasn’t the first. I know he had the head of the workhouse over to dine often and they were like minded on numerous unpleasant activities… Most of the servants, any number of the guests… I think the Duke had numerous small private parties where I was the source of amusement and entertainment. I think he started to finally feel some risk, I am sure his valet had a hand in that, and Hightower arranged for me to be killed. They have a game. It’s called the fox hunt. One night, I got shoved from behind and I dropped a platter and broke it, of course. I was taken to the horse barn and whipped until I couldn’t stand and then the Duke offered to let me live if I would play the game, to be the fox in their hunt. If I got off the estate limits, I would win. If I didn’t…. I would be sodomized by everyone chasing me. “He paused. “I didn’t get off the estate limits. After… after they were all done with me, the valet, Hightower said it was time for his grace to kill me. Have you noticed by the way, how Hightower the valet and I are similar in appearance?”

He hadn’t until just that moment but Matthew was right. Hightower was a little shorter but blonde and blue eyed and quite dashing, the sort of man the housemaids would have been giggling over in the servants hall. "I see it now, I just don’t see where you’re going.”

“Hightower is the Duke’s… I don’t know what they call it… Primary lover? Any time the Duke showed another man attention, Hightower would get angry. I realize now that he was constantly punishing me and deriding me because he was jealous. And the Duke knew this and seemed to enjoy it. I was lying at the bottom of a ravine, where they’d left me, and Hightower was telling the Duke it was time to finish the hunt…. And the Duke chided him for acting like a jealous school girl.” Matthew laughed bitterly. “Then he told Hightower that even though I was just a pretty little fox, it was his decision, not Hightower’s as to whether I lived or died and Hightower needed to know his place. Then he kicked me and told me to consider myself lucky that his valet needed a lesson and that my place was to keep my mouth shut if I wanted to continue living. I didn’t… I didn’t remember any of this clearly until this morning. I am certain that the Duke came to this shooting party to see if I did remember any of it. Someone else gave me a warning that the Duke was planning to kill me during the shooting.”

“Who?” Tom asked. Because whoever it was had to have known the entire situation.

“It doesn’t matter who, it was someone who genuinely didn’t know who I was, and I have no desire to see his life ruined.” Matthew said it firmly. “As it is…. You do see the problem here? Why tonight will be unpleasant? Because… I can’t let this go. Even though I will be ruined.”

“No, you’re the victim here, “Tom said reassuringly. “And I don’t think less of you at all. You weren’t right in the head.”

“Yes, that’s going to help, that the heir to the Earldom of Grantham wasn’t right in the head when he was being used like a woman by the Duke of Crowborough.” Matthew shrugged tiredly.

“You have to tell this? As some sort of point of honor?” Tom knew Matthew could be almost obnoxious when it came to such things.

“There is that,” Matthew said, “but if it was just that, then no. I would keep silent to save the family some embarrassment. I would tell Mary, of course, but I would otherwise keep this a secret. The problem, Tom, is that I wasn’t the first blond, blue eyed, somewhat simple man that the head of the workhouse funneled to the Duke’s estate staff, and I doubt very much that I was the last, and I can’t allow that to continue. No one deserves to suffer like that and I can live with the embarrassment of being considered a mentally deficient ponce. I can’t live with the notion that I could have stopped it from happening to some other poor fellow. I can’t.“

And that means I have to help, Tom decided. “So why are we driving to your mother’s house to use the phone?”

“Because there is one thing that trumps all of this, and the Duke doesn’t realize that I know it. He thinks that his position, and mine, will mean that I won’t tell anyone because all it accomplishes is my own ruin. And he’s right. If this was just about my being assaulted by him and used, he wins. Oh sure, Robert will make a gigantic fuss and the Duke will no doubt be off the guest list for numerous events, but so will I, and I will be effectively ruined because I did disappear for a year and didn’t even know my own name, so when I accuse the Duke, his servants will back his story that he never saw me. There’s no proof. He won’t be arrested, and would no doubt spread it around that I must be hallucinating and of course my memory is suspect. But he made a mistake, a very big mistake, and I intend to rub his face in it.”

“What mistake did he make?” Tom asked as they pulled up to Crawley House.

“He forgot that foxes are hunted because they are clever.”  
~*~


	5. Chapter five

It was a surprise to have both Matthew and Tom pop into the servants hall but John Bates had to admit, it was a blessed relief as well. It had been worrisome that Matthew had slipped out of the house, presumably to go on the shoot with the others. In order to please Robert, most likely, it wasn’t subtle that Robert was wanting and hoping that things would return to normal by having the party. Both he and Tom looked pale and worried as they waved their hands for everyone to sit down. 

“No need for anyone to get up,” Matthew said easily. “Mr. Branson and I got turned around in the shoot and ended up quite far afield. Are the others back yet?”

“Not yet,” Carson said, “but likely soon, within the hour.”

“Please have someone sent out to the field to let Lord Grantham know that Mr. Branson and I aren’t dead in the woods, Carson. I wouldn’t want his lordship to worry. Bates, may I have a word?”

“Of course,” he said. He followed Matthew into the hallway. 

“Tom, you know your part. And thank you again for driving me. I’ll need a little more practice before I’m comfortable with it.” Matthew waited until Tom was gone before he began to speak. “I need you to do me a favor, Bates. I am expecting an Inspector Marsh within the next two hours. He’s driving in from far west of here. Please make sure to let me know when he arrives and make sure he’s kept out of sight of the guests. He knows to use the servants entrance but please make sure he’s provided some hospitality. He should arrive before the main dinner. I also will need to know when Lord Grantham returns from the shooting. Finally, the Duke of Crowborough’s valet is likely to be watching me closely. Is there someone you can trust to keep an eye on him so that the Duke has no warning about Inspector Marsh?”

Oh dear god what are you going to do, Bates thought. “I can certainly assist. I’ll ask Mr. Barrow to keep an eye on Mr. Hightower,” since that had been arranged already, “but… if I might ask, what’s going on?”

Matthew stood firmly. “The odds are that I am going to ruin this otherwise delightful party, Bates. I’m going to be giving Lord Grantham some very unpleasant news that will embroil the family in scandal. I’ve done my best to see to it that the worst might not hit the newspapers but frankly, it’s going to be a mess. Please let Anna know that Lady Mary will probably need her support later this evening. Do you know where Lady Mary is, by any chance?”

“Your memory…. You’ve recalled something, haven’t you?” Of course he had, the question was what he intended to reveal.

“I’ve recalled everything, Bates.” Matthew said. “And I have to thank you for being discreet about what I asked you last night. I assume you put some clues together and have some idea of what might come out tonight.”

“Yes… are you quite certain you want to make an accusation?” There was no way that Bates could see that Matthew Crawley didn’t end up ruined if he accused the Duke of Crowborough of raping him. As he and Barrow discussed it, he’d seen the unpleasant truth. Matthew would at best see the Duke prosecuted but would also bear the stigma of having been with a man sexually. If people didn’t blame him, it would be because they assumed the accident had turned him simple in the head. And since he no longer seemed dazed or easily tricked, most would assume he was a homosexual who was taking revenge.

“It’s already done, Bates… but it’s not the accusation you think. In fact, once Lord Grantham is available, please ask the Duke of Crowborough to join us. And Mr. Blake. If Mr. Blake balks, tell him I said it was time to be a brave man… but I don’t think he’ll balk. You should come as well. His grace might find your experiences in prison helpful to a decision he’ll need to make.”

“Do you not understand that he will ruin you?” Bates couldn’t help it, Matthew was acting so nonchalant about it. He didn’t understand it. If nothing else, he knew the man was clever, certainly clever enough to know that the Duke would take him down and destroy his reputation just for spite.

Matthew shrugged. “Yes. There’s a good chance I will at best become a pathetic laughingstock. If it happens, it does. It already has, really. I’m not deaf, I’ve heard the muttering how I’m not a gentleman since the first day I walked into this house, years ago. Now, after a year where I dug ditches, worked in the field, and waited tables, where I even was incarcerated in several workhouses, I can hear the muttering even more and it’s not coming from just the servants but any number of guests. But there’s something bigger going on. When you see what happens tonight, you’ll understand why I couldn’t simply hide the unpleasantness.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, there’s a very good chance the Duke will handle his arrest without a word about my more unpleasant duties in his household.”

That raised his curiosity. “Why would he stay silent?”

“You’ll see. Now please do as I asked. And,” Matthew took a deep breath, “Do you know where Lady Mary is? I have something difficult to tell her, before this starts. She deserves to know before this… all blows up.”

“I believe she’s in the library.” Bates wondered again if anyone ever considered how lucky Matthew was. As difficult as the topic was, his wife was going to accept it and treat it the way it deserved to be treated.  
~*~  
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Mary said again. She made a point of not letting her rage enter her voice. He would misunderstand and that was something she didn’t want to happen. “You have done nothing wrong, Matthew. The only people I am angry with are the ones who treated you so brutally.” She regretted not going out to the shooting and ‘accidently’ blowing the Duke of Crowborough’s face off.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He was looking down, like he couldn’t face her. 

“For what? For being held down in a field by six cruel bastards and sodomized against your will?” She almost laughed. She didn’t, because it would certainly make it worse. “That’s like… like blaming you for being shot in the war. Or for the car accident.”

He looked stricken. “I was driving too fast. I was too excited and I wasn’t paying attention. This nightmare you’ve been through is because of me. And now… even if my plan works, there will always be rumors. You should have divorced me.”

She wanted to slap him. Instead she grabbed him and pulled him into her arms. “The car accident was an *accident*, Matthew. A comedy of errors all around. It was an accident that you were hurt and that Dr. Clarkson made such a terrible mistake. That is all it was… and everything that came after is because of the cruelty of others.” She could feel him trembling in her arms. “You weren’t to blame for what those men did. I don’t blame you because I know how badly hurt you were. I also know that if this was reversed, if I had been violated against my will, you would insist that I wasn’t at fault, and you’d be right. I love you, and I do not blame you for…. For not being able to fight six men off when they were all attacking you.” And if I know it was more than that, she thought as she held him, it can wait, and it doesn’t matter anyway. It was over, it was never going to happen again. As awful as it was, she knew it was worse for him, having to admit it. I have to be very careful, she thought. “There’s nothing for me to forgive, Matthew. You didn’t betray me, you didn’t choose for this to happen, you certainly didn’t want to have a terrible car accident the day George was born, and you certainly didn’t want to …. Be used in such a terrible way.” She let go of her embrace, so that she could look him in the eye. “I have thanked God every day since you returned to me, Matthew. Every single day, I find myself wondering what I did to deserve such a miracle. I never want to be without you again. The only thing about the awfulness that you’ve described that upsets me is knowing that if your plan works, the Duke of Crowborough won’t be punished for *all* of the awful things he did.” 

It did burn at her, that the bastard would be strung up on the gallows but not for all of it. That and the cold reality that the only reason Matthew would get any justice at all was due to his recalling something even more unspeakably awful.

“It might not work…. The plan, I mean.” Matthew looked at her, his eyes intent. “The worst could get out.”

“You would have stood by me if our roles were reversed. What is the worst, Matthew? A scandal over what, that you were forced to have sex with a man? While you were so dazed from a head injury you didn’t even know your name?” Mary waited a long moment.“ If this unpleasantness is revealed, anyone who judges you or mocks you won’t be welcome here as long as I live. You never judged me over…. Over Kemal, and I was far less innocent in that than you were in this. I love you, and that will never change even if god forbid you slept with the Prince of Wales.” 

“I didn’t…. I don’t think I slept with the Prince of Wales,” Matthew said after a moment. “I suppose your father will be pleased to hear that.” Then he laughed. He actually laughed and after a moment, so did she. It was so madly awful.

“Your plan is brilliant,” she said simply. “It will work, I have no doubt. But you should get dressed for dinner.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I will be at your side tonight, and every night, no matter what is or isn’t revealed.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he said easily.

“Yes, you do. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve this miracle.” It was easy to say because it was true, she thought as he left the parlor. If the worst came out, she would still have everything she wanted, but truth be told, she didn’t want Matthew to face that sort of public scorn, not on top of everything else. She waited a moment and then began to step towards the door, when suddenly Tony Gillingham entered the room.

“Lady Mary,” Tony said as he blocked her exit and closed the door, “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

She bit back a curse. “Tony, this is quite possibly the worst possible time for you to do this.”

He managed to look hurt. “Mary…. I just want to hear it from you, that you think…. That you’re happy with a man who is barely able to hold a drink and who doesn’t seem to know which end is up unless you tell him. Does that really make you happy, Mary?” He cocked his head. “I can’t blame you for choosing him. Your father’s heir and handsome to boot. I can even imagine when you married him that he might have been a catch, but now? He spent the morning throwing up and the afternoon getting lost in the woods. Tonight at dinner, when you sit right beside him, will you be reminding him to not use his fingers?”

She slapped him across the face. “Damn it, Tony! I understand that you feel hurt and betrayed, and I do feel badly that I unwittingly caused you to break off an engagement, but Matthew is my husband, and I love him and you have no idea how much difficulty he’s had. Tonight’s dinner, “ and she laughed again, despite herself, “I’d tell you to get out of this house right now, I’m that angry with what you just said, but I hope what happens tonight opens your eyes to how marriage is about far more than looks and appearances and why you and I would never have lasted in marriage. Grow up, Tony.” She shoved him out of the way and stormed off. The last thing she needed was his dramatics.  
~*~  
Robert sat down heavily. “I’m… going to need a moment, Matthew.” He didn’t realize until he sat down that Mary was firmly at Matthew’s side. At least there’s that, Robert thought. If there had been a fear in his mind when Matthew began telling him his horror story, it was that Mary would react badly.

“Would you like a drink?” Matthew asked with concern. He walked over to the bar and poured a drink for him. “I’m very sorry that this is all coming to a head right now. Unfortunately in order for my plan to work, it had to be done before the Duke has time to think about the implications of my remembering him.”

“Your plan is mad,” Robert said after a long moment. “It may not work.” He wanted it to work, he had to admit it. After the sickening story Matthew had just told, what he wanted most was to take the smarmy Duke of Crowborough out to the barn and personally horsewhip him to death.

“It is mad, and it could fail,” Matthew agreed as he handed him the glass of brandy, “but the alternative can’t be allowed. “

“I somehow knew you’d say that. And I agree.” Robert stood up. “And the family will stand behind you if your plan fails.”

“So we’ll all go down together,” Matthew said.

“You’re family, and this was not of your choosing,” Robert said easily. “If standing by you means we’re shunned, then at least next year’s Christmas season won’t be as expensive. Mary?” He didn’t anticipate a problem, Mary had proven herself a steady hand with what Matthew’s apparent death and return had thrown at her. But it was ugly and it would hurt her to know just how terribly Matthew had been treated. 

Much to his surprise, she smiled. “I think the plan is brilliant and his grace is going to react exactly as you think he will, Matthew. And if he doesn’t, he’s still going to pay, and I still have my husband.”

“In fairness, I have given you ample reason to divorce me,” Matthew said, a touch of humor entering his voice, despite it all. “Although technically inviting the men you were dating while you thought I was dead to this party was a bit odd.”

“Are we fighting?” Mary said, smiling more.

“I think so, but I suspect we shouldn’t be smirking, and giggling when this starts,” Matthew said.

“I agree,” Robert said. He didn’t want to chide them too much, it was too heartening to see the two of them happy despite the awful things Matthew had just described. But it wouldn’t do to have them giggling with delight like two children getting extra dessert. There was a knock at the door, and Charles Blake entered, followed by the Duke of Crowborough. Blake looked worried and pale, while the Duke managed to not look surprised. 

He gestured to Matthew, his entire stance betraying his amusement. “Are we to have a confrontation, Crawley? I genuinely didn’t think you were that foolish… but then you did have that blow to your head. Are you sure you want your lovely wife here?”

Matthew set down the glass he’d been holding. “I think we both know how little concern or respect you hold for my wife. However, I don’t think you realize that this is more of a courtesy than anything else. I’ve already spoken to the police. There’s an Inspector Marsh here to arrest you.”

Robert was pleased to see the flash of fear that crossed the man’s face. The Duke covered it quickly, but it was there. “Oh Crawley… or perhaps, just for old times sake, I should call you John? Don’t you understand that this won’t hurt anyone but you?”

“No,” Matthew said pleasantly. He smiled slightly. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“You’ll have your moment of embarrassing me, that I don’t deny,” the Duke said it easily, “But I outrank you in the peerage, and even before your… adventures in ditch digging, you were the bottom of the barrel, inheriting because there was nothing left in the Grantham line but the middle class dregs. And what an accusation you’re going to make, that I am a homosexual and I sodomized you at my estate. Only, you don’t see that even if you have Mr. Blake here join you in disgrace and back up your story, all of my servants and anyone you happen to remember as a guest will vehemently deny they even saw you in my home, let alone in my bed.” He made a point to reach out and adjust Matthew’s shirt in a way that was almost affectionate. “You always did manage to look good in clothes. It’s a pity your father in law here has no idea how pretty you look in footman livery. Robert, I trust you understand, even if your dolt of a son in law doesn’t, that I will ruin all of you.”

“Oh, I doubt that, your grace,” Robert said evenly. He realized suddenly that Matthew was right. The Duke’s arrogance was going to seal his fate. “Matthew, why don’t you explain?”

Matthew nodded, the slight smile still on his face. “Thank you, Robert.” He eyed the Duke, his eyes suddenly cold and steely. “I think, your grace, that you’ve badly misunderstood the situation. The inspector isn’t here to arrest you for forcible sodomy. They’re here to arrest you for murder.”

“Murder?” the Duke said. It was noticeable, Robert thought with no small amount of satisfaction, to see the smarmy little worm begin to squirm.

“And attempted murder,” Matthew said. “My attempted murder, to be clear. Also unlawful assault, and I have whip scars for proof, and since I was never paid a cent, the inspector intends to add unlawful enslavement as a charge, but really, it’s all the murders that caused Inspector Marsh to insist on driving out to arrest you. I know you think I’m quite daft in the head. Frankly, that I have had memory problems works against me. That’s why I called the police near your estate and directed them to the ravine where you left me that night. So that my story could be proven before you had a chance to clean up the evidence.” He chuckled darkly. “The truth is that until the last day or so, I didn’t remember your name but I did remember that last night, where you stood over me and kicked me and told me how lucky I was to not be killed. As soon as you were gone…. I looked around, and I realized exactly how lucky I was. I told the inspector that he’d find at least six bodies, that’s how many I counted that night…. But you know he found fourteen, don’t you?” Matthew waited a long moment. “A few of them were still in the remains of their livery. I’ve already told the inspector how I was beaten, whipped, and left for dead, and Mr. Blake here intends to testify that he saw me in your home serving you as a footman. If you *want* to mention that you also sodomized me… well, you certainly can, but you’re a monster who likes to beat and kill your servants and you’re going to hang for it. Your accusing me of homosexuality will, of course, titillate, but most people will see it for what it is, a murderer desperately trying to drag down an innocent man. If this was just my word against yours, you’d win. But fourteen dead men on your property and a fellow peer, admittedly lower ranked, able to testify just how he almost joined the pile, with the scars to prove it… You’re going to hang.”

The Duke seemed to internalize it. He drew himself upright. “If I am caught, I can still destroy you. So I’ll hang. You’ll still be an accused homosexual. Before I’m done, everyone will know that I had you, and so did almost every man who visited my estate.”

“Of course,” Matthew said agreeably. “You might want to remember though, that between the trial and your appeal, before you hang, you’re going to be spending a lot of time in prison. I have no intention of accusing you of any sexual misconduct. So as much as you might enjoy bragging about how you sodomized and raped me, the unpleasant reality is that you’ll be in prison as an admitted ponce.” Matthew gestured for Bates to step forward. “My valet, Bates, has spent time in prison. Bates, would you let his grace know what happens to known homosexuals?”

Bates smiled. “It wasn’t my taste, but the ones who made it known? Were passed around like whores every night. The guards didn’t care. I saw two guards just walk away when one poof was dragged into a cell. They don’t care. They especially won’t care about a murdering queer waiting on an appeal.” He nodded to Matthew. “Mr. Crawley is doing you a favor. A murdering duke will get a bit of respect… a peer who likes to have sex with men would be fair game.” 

“It’s your choice,” Matthew said.

“And if you think this family won’t stand behind Matthew on this,” Robert said firmly, “you can put that idea out of your head.”

The Duke glared at him with hard, furious eyes. For a long moment, all the Duke did was stare at them, his facial muscles twitching. Finally, he stepped up to Mary, and smirked at her. “You know he liked it, don’t you? I’m sure he’ll make a show of protesting, but he used to beg me for it. It was quite sweet really, my pretty little fox asking what my pleasure was, made all the more delightful knowing that as he bowed and scraped and made himself a whore for me, you and your whole family was weeping over his grave. “He laughed. “Oh your expression just now will keep me warm in prison, Lady Mary.”

“That’s amusing, your grace,” Mary said coldly. “So amusing, my personal inclination is to tell Matthew to describe in detail the terrible things you did so that you will be handed around the prison yard like a fresh new whore. It’d be worth all the talk just to know your last few days before you were publically executed were spent face down in a prison bed getting exactly the same treatment you gave my husband.” She looked him in the eye, her rage well controlled. “You might be amused to know that I had entertained the idea of murdering you this afternoon. Accidents happen…. I’m quite convinced, and so is Matthew, that had he not left the hunt that you were planning a similar accident for him. Mr. Bates convinced me not to risk prison over you. So this will have to do.” She snatched up the brandy bottle on the bar and smashed it into the side of his face, sending him to the floor.

The Duke scrambled to his feet, blood running down his face. It was, Robert thought with no small amount of pride, a well landed blow. The man’s face was going carry those scars for as long as he lived, which was at best a year. “How dare you!” The Duke sputtered.

“I thought it appropriate,” Mary said coldly. “Just in case you do feel like telling stories, you can look in the mirror and remember why it’s not a good idea.” She turned to Robert. “Are we to the point where we can have the inspector take this piece of filth away?”

Robert nodded. “Bates, please fetch the inspector.” As Bates left, Robert turned to the Duke. “Feel free to make as much of a fuss as you like.”

“Yes,” Matthew said pleasantly, “we’ll need to explain why you’re being led away in handcuffs, regardless. But do remember, you can make your time in prison as pleasant or as painful as you want….”

“I should have killed you,” the Duke snarled. He dove at Matthew and punched him in the face. In seconds Robert was pulling the Duke away while Blake was holding Matthew back. 

“I say, that’s enough,” said a new voice. It was the inspector, Marsh, a tall, older man with a Scottish accent. Robert gripped the squirming man tightly while Blake waited a moment before letting go of Matthew. The inspector took out his handcuffs. “I don’t blame you for wanting a word with this monster before I arrest him, Crawley, but I can’t let you beat him to death in front of me. More’s the pity.”

“You can’t arrest me!” the Duke protested wildly, his voice suddenly desperate. 

“After what I found in that bloody ravine,” Marsh hissed as he roughly handcuffed the man, “I should let Crawley beat you to death. You might as well stop protesting. Bill Murdoch at the workhouse is already under arrest and he’s already confessed that he sent Crawley and the others to you.” The inspector gestured to Matthew. “After all I’d heard about him, I wasn’t keen on taking directions from a man who couldn’t even remember his name but by god, I’m glad I did. Fourteen dead men… “Not only did he had a Scottish accent, Robert realized, the man had a voice that carried and the door to the library was now open. Some of the guests were starting to watch the spectacle, and that only seemed to make the inspector get louder as he began dragging the Duke out into the hallway, almost shouting that the Duke was being arrested for multiple murders and attempted murder. 

There was a tense moment as the Duke saw the guests pouring into the entrance hall. Robert held his breath. It was the best time, the best opportunity the Duke would ever have, to ruin Matthew. Once the man was jailed, the admission would lose its power, as Matthew had said. Then, it would look like a desperate attempt at revenge. Now, it would be a heat of the moment utterance, something that would stick in peoples minds and stay. 

The Duke’s face twitched again. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. His shoulders slumped and he lowered his head. Oh thank god, Robert thought. It worked. It was going to be unpleasant beyond belief and there would be the trial, but Matthew wouldn’t be ruined. The inspector had brought a man with him, who quickly arrested Hightower as an accomplice. Within the space of ten minutes he had the entire household milling about in a controlled fashion, looking quite shell shocked. “Everyone, I know this is all quite shocking. Carson, have the footmen bring some drinks to the parlor. Dinner will be delayed for a few moments and then we’ll give you all a detailed account of what just happened.” He waited until the crowd dispersed a bit to ask, “Matthew, are you up for this?”

“I have to be, don’t I?” Matthew said, his voice shaky. “Don’t look so worried, Robert. Remember, this is exactly how I wanted the evening to end, my explaining to a large group of people how I was almost murdered.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not difficult,” Mary said quickly. “I will be right at your side.”

“Holding a bottle of brandy to strike people with if they get too forward?” Matthew said after a moment. “That was a surprise. “

“So was your brilliant plan,” she said. She put her arm around him and kissed him. “Now, let’s get your eye some ice and get you a clean shirt so you don’t look too frightful when you tell our guests about how unpleasant this all was.”

Unpleasant, Robert thought, was an understatement. And truth be told, he was still worried. What the Duke had said to Mary, it had cut her to the quick, he’d seen it on her face. Once this nightmare of a weekend party is over, he vowed they wouldn’t have another.  
~*~


	6. Chapter six

The unfortunate reality of her life, Mary realized as she looked about her bedroom, was that when she had a problem of a distinctly female nature, it was hard to find someone to talk to. No, she told herself, the real problem is that the best person to talk to, Sybil, was dead. Sybil, with her practical nature and compassion would have cut to the chase, and made sense of her feelings. And possibly lectured her on being selfish and all about herself instead of Matthew, but Sybil would have been a font of good sense. 

Edith was useless or next to useless. Sympathetic, of course, but there was just nothing there to work with and worse, going to Edith for advice would be the worst sort of concession. Edith also had a tendency to blab when she was angry.

Her mother was also useless, for different reasons. She would be sympathetic, but Mary didn’t want sympathy, she wanted advice and she already knew that it would look better in the morning, and that was usually the sum of her mother’s advice.

Despite almost always being a better choice for advice, there was no way she was approaching Isobel for help. Isobel was, she suspected, one of the few people in the family who hadn’t gotten the full story. God knew Matthew had barely made it through the debacle of the dinner party describing how he’d remembered being beaten and humiliated and left for dead in a ravine filled with bodies. Isobel had been shocked, horrified, and yet she hadn’t made any effort to push Matthew any further. A surprise, except… not really. Mary didn’t consider herself much of a mother in comparison to Isobel, it was something that she already could foresee rows with Matthew over how George was to be raised. Matthew sometimes even wanted to have George’s crib in their room. He wanted George raised the way he’d been raised, without a nanny. Some of that came from missing the child’s first year, so as long as he allowed the nanny to stay and handle things, she was willing to concede on George occasionally sleeping in their room and not going to boarding school until he was eleven. It was already hard to compete with Matthew’s idea of the perfect mother, she wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire by asking Isobel for advise on how to best handle her son’s unwillingness to bed her since he’d explained in express detail how he’d had more sex with more men than she even knew.

Isobel didn’t want to know, and Mary suspected Isobel was willfully ignoring the rumors of the Duke’s homosexuality to spare Matthew even more embarrassment. Matthew hadn’t asked for people to not tell other members of the family, it just seemed best to not intentionally share out the details. She knew Matthew had told Tom, and her and her father. Bates knew, and she knew that Thomas Barrow knew. Her father would have told her mother, that was just understood, while Tom would take it to the grave. Barrow was a wild card, but for her purposes, he wasn’t someone she was going to talk to

Bates would have told Anna. Unless, of course, he had decided to spare her sensibilities but Anna was sharp, as sharp as Isobel Crawley who surely knew what wasn’t being said about the field of bodies and the Duke’s all male staff. So when Anna came in to the room to help her with her hair, she made her decision. “Anna, would you just… sit down? I need someone to talk to.”

“Of course, Lady Mary,” Anna said easily. She took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you all right? Between the party last weekend, the… unpleasantness Mr. Crawley recalled and all of the things happening since…. And then the holidays….”

“The unpleasantness,” Mary said. She found herself laughing. “The unpleasantness. Oh good god, Anna, did Bates tell you? The real unpleasantness? And how it could all still come toppling down on Matthew?”

Anna hesitated just for a moment and then took her hand. “He did… but I had guessed most of it. The Duke’s valet wasn’t… subtle about some of his remarks. I’m sorry that happened to Mr. Crawley, I really am, Lady Mary. Mr. Bates told me that… the confrontation with the Duke was very bad.”

“He told me that Matthew liked it, that Matthew tried to please him.” Despite her control, the tears came. “Matthew didn’t…. hasn’t denied it….”

“Oh Mary… “Anna pulled her into a hug. “You know… sometimes I think you and Matthew are two sides of the same coin. You’re more alike than you are different. I remember once how angry you were that he could only see the issue with the inheritance from Mr. Swire in black and white, good and bad. You’re doing that right now. You’re not seeing that it wasn’t as simple as saying yes or no.”

“What are you talking about?” She was suddenly curious.

Anna looked her in the eye. “I want your word, as my friend, that this stays between us. Servants aren’t supposed to tell tales, you know.”

“Of course. What is it?” She waited.

“Lady Mary…. You’ve never been a servant. You don’t understand how sometimes… All you want is for your employer to be pleased.” Anna looked down at her feet, obviously carefully considering her words. “This is a good house to work at and yet, there are days where everyone wants nothing more than for your father, or you, or your mother, to just be pleased with the work being done, and to stop complaining or threatening to turn someone out. Mr. Carson isn’t a bully, but he can be very harsh. I used to find William crying in one of the backrooms, upset that yet again he’d made a mistake and displeased your father in some way. He was afraid of being sent away, that he’d disappoint his family and have a bad reference and never get a good job again. Mr. Bates told me what happened with Mr. Crawley, that he’d been in a work house and told he had to please or else. He said he was beaten, beaten for not pleasing. That doesn’t happen here, but I worked at a different house where… the lady of the house was quite free with her hands and with her riding crop. And I knew I couldn’t leave without having another job lined up, so I had to put up with it and do whatever I could to please her. When you’re in service, Lady Mary, everything relies on your employer. That’s what happened to poor Ethel. She made a mistake, and she was fired with no reference and her life was destroyed. “

“And this is a good house,” Mary said thoughtfully.

“It is,” Anna said, “and no one is beaten here, and Mr. Carson doesn’t allow bullying or cruelty and yet we all dread the days we’re not pleasing. And Mr. Crawley…. When your father brought him here after his time away… he reminded me of William, in how shy, and how terrified he was at the idea he’d make a mistake. If… if he wanted to please the Duke, it was because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t please. In that house, what do you think not pleasing would have meant?”

“Nothing good,” Mary said after a moment. There were plenty of dead footmen. At last check the body count was at nineteen. “I’m not… I’m not angry with him. I don’t blame him, you know that.”

“I do,” Anna said. “And I know that the Duke is a vile man who put that thought in your head, that Matthew enjoyed it just so he could turn the knife one last time. Do you think Matthew is now a homosexual? That he doesn’t want you anymore?”

Mary started to cry. “We haven’t been together since before this awful party.”

Anna pulled her into a hug. “Have you considered,” she said quietly, “how humiliating and embarrassing this has been for him? I know the worst didn’t come out publically, but he did have to tell the people he loves best in the world what happened. He might be worried that you don’t want him, that he’s somehow soiled in your eyes.”

“But he’s not, oh God, Anna that’s so far from the truth. I don’t care at all. I know what he was like before his memory returned. He wasn’t choosing to be with men, and he was in no mental state to prevent it. I know the law doesn’t consider it rape but it was. Had something so terrible happened to me, Matthew would laugh at the notion of forgiving me because he would insist I had done nothing wrong. He has no reason to be ashamed with me.” As she said it, she felt bolder, and better. “He has always been far too hard on himself. But… what do I do? I want….” She hesitated.

Anna giggled. “You want to throw him down on the bed and show him how much you want it.” The younger woman blushed and so did Mary. “I understand, I do. When John came back from the prison, he was so hesitant about it and I didn’t want to push him but… I just wanted to leap on him and have my way. In fact I did leap on him.” Anna gave her a shy grin. “I don’t recommend being that forward with Matthew. I think, all things considered, you might… hurt his dignity if you don’t let him come to you.”

Mary sighed. “This is another lesson in patience, isn’t it?”  
~*~  
“Mr. Barrow, I was wondering if I might have a word with you?”

Internally, Thomas sighed as he turned to look at Matthew Crawley. Of course you want a word, Thomas thought tiredly. The only other homosexuals you know are terrified you’re going to destroy them by telling how they at best took advantage of a mental incompetent, and at worst were buddies with the Duke of Crowborough also currently known as the Mad Murderer of the Moors.

The problem of course was that he didn’t have it in him to be cruel to the man. “What can I help you with, Mr. Crawley?”

Matthew stepped into the library and closed the door. “I wanted to ask you some questions… about some of the things that happened… with the Duke….”

Thomas drew himself up, standing almost at attention. “The first thing you need to understand, Mr. Crawley, is that it is very unwise for you and I to be alone together. I know… that you have questions and I am willing to answer them, but you need to be extremely careful right now. People are tolerant here, but I was almost arrested for sodomy. The last people you need to be seen with are people like me.” 

Matthew nodded. “I don’t want to endanger you.”

“You’re not. You just need to be careful. You’re the one who has the most to lose.” Why is he so pretty, Thomas mused. A part of him completely understood why the Duke had been so foolish. There were good looking men and then there was Matthew Crawley. The problem as always was one of interest. If he’d sometimes wondered, even now he wasn’t getting a hint of interest. No, he understood completely what Matthew wanted.

“I… wanted to talk to you…. “Matthew managed to look as awkward as possible. “How… how did you know? That you liked men?”

The doubt made it more exciting and he forced that thought away. It wasn’t a game, or rather it was a game he didn’t want to play with Matthew. “I suppose,” he said carefully, “that I should ask you when you decided you liked women. But that would be rude and accusatory. So instead, I will just answer. I always knew. Even… even when I was a very little boy, I always knew what I was. Did you always know you liked women?”

“I don’t think I knew it when I was a little boy… Girls will always so odd when I was little.” Matthew smiled. “They got a lot more fascinating when I was fourteen or so…. I just…. It just doesn’t always make sense….”

“Because not every time was horrible?” Thomas asked gently. “Because it wasn’t always being chased in a field by a bunch of savages? And sometimes, if it was someone being gentle instead of rough, it didn’t hurt? It wasn’t always awful and now you think that since you bore it, it must mean you have leanings?”

“Yes… something like that…” Matthew said.

Again, Thomas sighed. If there had ever been a chance it was lost the second Matthew was violated so savagely. “Would you believe that I have had sex with women? And it wasn’t awful?”

Matthew nodded his head. “I suppose… That I just assumed that you had tried it. I mean, why wouldn’t you? If it wasn’t awful, then why do you prefer men?” He paused. “It seems like your life would be much easier, all things considered.”

“But, that it isn’t awful doesn’t make it good,” Thomas said patiently. More gently, he said “if you weren’t miserable, that doesn’t mean you prefer it. It just means that it didn’t hurt and maybe someone felt guilty about what they were doing and tried to treat you kindly.” He rather doubted that. He suspected that Charles Blake was a rare bird indeed, and that most of the Duke’s guests hadn’t really given a damn about any of the servants they were using. Blake was a nice chap, all things considered, more’s the pity that he had never met Matthew formally.

And as much as he wanted to take advantage of Matthew’s doubt, he wasn’t such a fool as to think it wouldn’t have consequences. For starters, people were watching, Bates in particular, and Bates would run to the Earl if he even suspected such a thing. The only reason Matthew wasn’t already being ridiculed by the public at large was because he had managed to bring out an even bigger crime against the Duke. In private, he was certain that certain circles of people were talking. God knew that the Duke wasn’t the only ponce with a title and Matthew had likely had sex with any number of them. Those people were willing to keep silent but there would always be rumors. Once Matthew was more settled in his mind about what happened, he would feel taken advantage of, if the under butler convinced him to try consensual sex with a man.

It was also much too late to make a leopard change its spots. In a different time, Matthew was exactly the sort who might have been convinced to experiment on a lark after a few drinks. In a different world, he might’ve been another Charles Blake. The signs were there. But it was much too late now, the man had been raped and was unlikely to ever associate sex with a man as anything other than shameful. It was too late to turn the man’s head to a different path, and truth be told he wasn’t sure he had the patience to deal with the bundle of neurosis and issues that Matthew Crawley represented. Not to mention that if he was caught he would be fired. No, he thought sadly, this is a case where I can look but never touch. So it was time to do the next best thing.

“You’re not a homosexual,” he said bluntly. “If you’re worried, you shouldn’t be. You would’ve known a long time ago. If you don’t believe me, then ask Mr. Blake. You like women, you were forced into doing things that you didn’t like because you were afraid for your life. You had reason to be afraid. If… Every once in a while, it wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t because you were enjoying it. And if, perhaps, you reacted by… Becoming aroused,” and judging by the sudden loss of color in Matthew’s face, he had just scored a direct hit, “then you need to remember that it’s not that difficult to get a rise out of the little soldier. It happened to me in the war after being shot at… Possibly the very worst experience of my life, and nine times out of 10, at the end of a battle, I usually had to throw a coat over myself to hide it. And I bet that happen to you.” He waited until Matthew sheepishly nodded. “So that was hardly an erotic moment and there we are. You don’t have to worry, you didn’t catch anything. For what it’s worth, I abhor what happened to you. No one should be forced, and the Duke had no right to do that to any of those men. You’re the lucky one in this, you’re still alive, and you have a family that cares about you. You shouldn’t be worried about things that aren’t true. You don’t have to punish yourself with terrible thoughts just because your body responded to being touched by something other than a woman’s hands. Flesh doesn’t know the difference.”

After a long moment, Matthew nodded. “I suppose… That you have a point. Thank you, Thomas.”

The problem, Thomas realized, was that if he knew Matthew Crawley at all, that probably wouldn’t be the end of it. At least, he told himself, I did the right thing for a change. Although it was a damn shame he had to be the honorable one. He knew, if he had suggested it, that he could have talked the man into bed. Matthew was an easy read in that respect. Thomas found himself grinning. It wasn’t worth the risk at all but it was still fun to think about.  
~*~  
He tossed and turned and finally threw the covers off and got up. He put on a robe and left his room. For a moment, he considered going into Mary’s room and simply joining her. Then he decided against it. She was likely already asleep and while he knew she’d insist she didn’t mind, he was quite certain that was Mary being a good soldier.

Mary was as trapped by the circumstances as he was. So far, they had been lucky, extremely lucky, that no accusations or insinuations had been made. The Duke was in jail, awaiting trial, and with so many dead bodies on his property, it was looking as though he wouldn’t be the only one to hang for the crimes. Hightower, Bill Murdoch, the head of the work house and several others were also under arrest. There was going to be several trials, he had already been told that he would have to testify. If the Duke decided it was worth it to have his petty revenge, Mary would be hit by the backlash and he was no fool about who it would be worse for. He had never needed or wanted to be a member of the high society. If he had to, if he had just himself to think about, it would have been simple. He could just leave. Leave England if he needed to. America wasn’t awful, neither was Australia, and both were big enough that he wouldn’t have to spend his life being ridiculed about his past. But Mary wasn’t like that at all. She loved her home and would be miserable if she had to leave. And she was clever enough to understand how trapped she was by being married to him. If she left him, she would be a pariah for leaving her husband, but if she stood by him, she’d be stained by the same brush. Worse, in her way, Mary was honorable, a good soldier. She had spent her entire life preparing herself for marriage. That meant she had to stand by him, no matter how horrified she was by what had happened. 

She had been horrified, he knew that. She had covered it well, she really was a good soldier in that respect, but he had seen the disgust and outrage in her eyes. There was no way to change what had happened and she was stuck attached to a man that had committed unspeakable acts. He couldn’t assume that he was welcome in her bed, he felt guilty about the times they’d been together before his memory had fully returned.

He put on a robe and went down stairs. If I can’t sleep, he decided, I can at least enjoy a good book. He was perusing the shelves when the door opened. Much to his surprise, Tom walked in, also wearing a robe. “Tom… I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Tom shook his head. “No, I was checking on little Sybbie… she has been having nightmares and the nanny has trouble soothing her. Why are you up?”

“I suppose I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Too many thoughts in my head. What with the trial…. Or trials I suppose…” He sat down in one of the chairs

“Are you worried about… people finding out that the Duke did more than beat and murder his servants?” Tom took a seat as well.

“How can I not be worried about that? Tom, that particular sword will dangle over my head until the day I die. All it will take is for the talk to begin.” Although he did think the worst was past in that regard. The plan had worked in that respect. The continuing horror of more bodies being found at the Duke’s estate meant the public would merely scream louder for the man’s head if he added sodomy to his crimes. And the various participants at the many parties weren’t fool enough to come forward. They were probably too worried about blackmail.

After a moment, Tom shook his head. “That’s not it. Have you been with Mary? Since the party?”

He almost said something ugly because it was the last thing he expected to hear from Tom, but he stopped himself. Tom knew, Tom knew everything, every ugly moment. Robert and Mary had borne the details well, but he hadn’t missed the horrified flinching. Tom had heard it first without faltering and was genuinely concerned. “No,” he said finally. “I haven’t. How can I be with her, how could she ever want to be with me again after knowing that?”

“Matthew….”Tom sighed and leaned back into his chair. “Do you think Mary thinks you… had any control over what happened?”

“I could walk. I wasn’t in chains. I can’t tell you I couldn’t have left.” It was a potential problem at the trial, the prosecutor had already remarked on it. “I let them do what they did. I can’t deny it, if Mary asks. I can’t deny what he said to her that night, that I tried to please him.”

Tom was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, his voice intent. “I would almost laugh except that I think you really believe that you had a choice. That’s ridiculous, by the way.”

“It’s not,” Matthew insisted. 

“It is,” Tom shot back. “Tell me. Did they tell you that you couldn’t leave? That if you did leave, it would be worse for you? That the workhouse would send you someplace even worse. I know they told you that, because you told me that they did. If you made mistakes, you were beaten, and almost everything was a mistake. The Duke knew you didn’t remember anything about yourself, you told him that. He knew what he was doing. He ground you down until you were too afraid to do anything. You had no idea what was right and wrong, no one told you anything but what the Duke wanted you to hear. Every time you balked at anything, you were beaten and told how stupid you were.”

“Yes but…” he sighed. “I don’t know how I was so stupid.”

“Well, you were so badly injured you couldn’t remember your name. You said it yourself, people could tell you things and they didn’t register on you. It couldn’t be helped.” Tom said it firmly. “You do realize that that when Robert first brought you here, that you were…. So obviously not well, Robert lectured the family and the servants together on how to best handle you.”

“That’s…. not exactly heartening,” Matthew said after a moment.

“I’m not saying that to embarrass you,” Tom said quickly. “I’m trying to give you some perspective. I don’t agree with Robert and Mary on your recovery. Part of what makes them angry is the idea that if you had just… been found alive in the cold storage, that somehow you would have been completely better months sooner. I don’t think that’s true. I don’t think you think that either.”

After a moment, Matthew found himself nodding. “I would have been better sooner but I… really was in a daze. You probably would have spent four or five months telling me that my name was Matthew and what day it was. I was… getting better when I started working in Manchester, I knew I was getting better because I could… remember the people I had worked for and where I had been. That… took a while to happen.”

“So… stop and think about that. Even if you had been here from the beginning, after the accident, you would have been in a state where you could barely think and you would have needed to be protected because you were suffering from a head injury.” Tom leaned forward. “Now you are better. So tell me, how could you have left the Duke’s estate without being caught? I believe you, that you weren’t in chains and you could walk. But how far could you have gotten? Before someone noticed you were gone? The closest town had the workhouse that gave you to the Duke. You said they never paid you, so if some one asked, you’d be a penniless wanderer who didn’t even know his name and where does that get you? Back to the local workhouse. If you haven’t thought about this, I know I have, because you were the lucky one who escaped and there were nineteen poor bastards who weren’t so lucky. Some of them did try to walk away and the bastard that ran that workhouse has already admitted he sent them right back to the Duke. Where I suspect they were whipped and beaten bloody and then murdered after being violated.”

Matthew nodded again. “I understand but…Do you know how hard I used to hope that… I could please him? That I could perform… an act for him, and he’d enjoy it and…. I’d be safe for a little while.” He could remember that all too well, knowing that if he pleased the man, he could stay in the bedroom and sleep and someone else would have to finish his many chores because his grace liked to sleep in and got very angry if someone came looking for the stupid daft footman too early in the morning.

“Are you listening to yourself? That you were so terrified that all you could hope for was to maybe feel safe for few moments?” Tom leaned forward, his eyes intent. “Do you think Mary wouldn’t understand that?”

“Tom, I don’t ever want her to know that.” He couldn’t even imagine saying it to her.

Tom put his hand to his head as if to stave off a headache. “Matthew…. For god’s sake, do you really think she hasn’t figured it out? I mean, the Duke as much told her. She knows, Matthew. She knows that you were in a state where you didn’t understand that no one should have been asking you for…. For sex. She knows that everyone in the Duke’s household told you that it was part of your job, and that you were punished if you balked at anything. She knows you were whipped senseless and sodomized in a field and left next to a pile of dead bodies. You’re not going to shock her with anything. She knows all of this.” 

“How could she want to be with me then? It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting.” He sighed. “I’ve been with more men sexually than she’ll ever be formally introduced to. I don’t think there’s any way to expect her to get past that. I’m dirty, soiled, and she knows it. She hasn’t even hinted at wanting me to join her in the evening and I know why. It’s because her husband is a disgusting ponce.” Saying it, it felt right.

Tom gaped at him. “Matthew… you couldn’t be more wrong. Mary….” It was almost amusing to see Tom turn such a brilliant shade of red. “Mary doesn’t want you to feel like you have to go to bed with her. Because… because you were so scattered and out of sorts, and especially now, knowing that people were forcing you… She didn’t want you to feel it was required simply because you’re married. She doesn’t think you’re dirty or disgusting. She’s been worried beyond belief about you, that this happened and that you’ll somehow consider yourself at fault for it. Do you know she was planning to kill the Duke? And that Bates talked her out of it? And that she has told all of us that anyone who ever judges you as anything but an innocent victim won’t be welcome in this house? Do you know that she spent the first six months after she thought she buried you barely able to get out of bed? Cora and Robert were genuinely worried that she wouldn’t snap out of it, that she would just…. Fade away.”

“She said she was very upset…” He put his head in his hands. “I try not to think of how awful that must have been, for her, for my mother, all of you…”

“And I didn’t mention it to make you feel bad, by any means, but this house was filled with despair, Matthew. And now it’s not. You are alive and you’re not soiled by what happened, and you need to stop thinking that way. Mary knows all of this and stood by you. She’s nothing like Sybil in most ways, but in one important way she’s exactly like Sybil. She knows what really matters is that she loves you and you love her and that part of being married is knowing the worst and understanding how little it matters.” Tom got up and sat down next to him and put his arm around him. “Matthew, she is more worried about you, that this is going to break you into pieces, than she is about anything that you did. She even told Bates that she didn’t blame you for anything that happened because she knew if the situation had been reversed you would have told her there was nothing for you to forgive. She considers you blameless in this, because you were injured.”

He said the first thing that came to him. “What was the worst? That you told Sybil?” Because he did believe that, that Tom and Sybil had shared secrets, had been intimate in a way that he’d always found difficult. 

He could feel Tom’s hand on his should tremble just a bit. “I know what it’s like to feel dirty and stupidly tricked, Matthew. Sybil wondered why I wasn’t much of a church goer, since I was catholic and she’d always been taught that catholics attend church. And I told her why.” Tom looked him in the eye. “I was an altar boy and… the father told me that part of my duty was to…. Attend him. While he bathed. And there were other duties that I don’t think I have to describe to you but that I thought were things I was supposed to do. And when I told my mother why…. Why I was bleeding…. She slapped my face and told me to stop lying about our priest and to never ever tell anyone what happened.”

“That’s… that’s awful, Tom. I mean… you were a child.” It was hard to believe that such a terrible thing could happen. “What did Sybil say? Why did you tell her?”

“I wanted her to know the worst thing about me,” Tom said easily. “So that she would know who she was running away with, that I was a terrible, stupid person who was always going to be dirty in her eyes. And do you know what she said?”

“If it was Sybil, then something kind, I am sure,” Matthew said.

Tom laughed. “No, she said she wished that priest was right in front of her so she could kick him where it hurts and castrate him, and that my mother deserved a horsewhipping for calling her own son a liar.” He smiled reassuringly. “That’s the worst. Her worst? She nicked a bottle of whiskey and got drunk with Gwen out by the folly gates and the two of them kissed like silly school girls.”

“You know my worst,” Matthew said, “And I know Mary’s….”

“The Turkish fellow that died,” Tom said with a shudder. “You’re a braver man than I… “

“You know that? Did she tell you?” Then it dawned on him. “You all know.” He felt a twinge of shock. “Every single servant in this house knows what happened with Pamuk and what was really said to the Duke the other night.” Because they always talked around the servant table. 

Tom shrugged. “We are lucky in that we have both been able to see both worlds. But no…. the details of what was said to the Duke aren’t being discussed because Bates won’t talk, and Barrow knows better than to talk and Robert hasn’t shared the details to anyone else. And no one has asked. I know you have a hard time believing this but the servants downstairs all hate the fact that you were mistreated while doing a job similar to theirs.” He waited a long moment. “Mary means it when she says she loves you. She doesn’t think you’re a disgusting ponce. I’m not disgusting because of what happened to me when I was a child. You’re not disgusting, because you’re not at fault, and you need to start believing that. Because your wife wants you far more than she cares about anything else.”  
~*~

She heard the door open, and felt her heart clench. Oh please be Matthew, she prayed. He was struggling, and she didn’t want to push him, but she had to admit, Anna was right. She wanted her husband in her bed. It had taken time to get him to touch her during his early recovery, but once he’d had the first major breakthrough, they had engaged each other almost as much as when they were first married. Until the party. Please be Matthew, she thought again as she kept her eyes closed.

“Mary,” he said quietly, and she let out the breath she had been holding. Matthew was in her bedroom, unbidden. “Are you awake? I thought perhaps I would join you tonight. If… if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind, “ she said as she threw back the covers. “I’ve been missing you the last few days.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” he said as he slid into the bed. “I’m sorry…. I’m sorry I’ve been so closed off the last few days…. The arrests, the trial talk… it hardly feels like Christmas is almost here.” She felt him tense up. “I haven’t even gotten you or George, or Mother any gifts.”

“It’s been busy, what with the party, the arrests, Papa chasing reporters off the property. Don’t worry about presents. George isn’t old enough to notice, and your mother and I got our present three months ago.” Christmas was three days away but everything was such a mess, it was lucky she had bought Matthew’s gift before the party.

“Still…” he sighed. 

“Last year was the worst Christmas of my life.” It wasn’t a good lead in to what she wanted from him, but she didn’t want to let it go. “Papa tried to insist that I at least join them for Christmas dinner… I told him to go to hell. He slapped me, I slapped him. Then we both cried and drank a bottle of whisky. I spent most of Christmas evening vomiting while Carson held my hair. I have no idea what everyone else was up to. So, let me be honest, that you end up handing me a pretty scarf or a silly hat you find in the village shops will in no way ruin the holiday.”

“Maybe I should get you a bottle of whiskey, and we could start a new family tradition? After we play charades and let the servants go, we could get drunk.” He chuckled. So did she, and after a moment, he curled around her. “If you’re not too tired… I thought we could be intimate. Would you like to?”

Oh thank god, she thought. “If you’d like… I didn’t want to push you about it, because the last few days have been so ugly. But yes, I would very much enjoy it.” Enjoy it was probably far too small of a word, she thought.

“Are you sure?” he asked carefully. “Only… I thought… I thought you might be bothered by what… what happened.” Then he jumped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m undoing your pajama bottoms. That’s how bothered I am. If you want to keep talking, that’s lovely, but I’m ready now.” She climbed on top of him and hesitated only for a moment. “I don’t suppose you learned anything clever from all those men?”

“Nothing I think you’d like,” he gasped as she went to work. Then his hands began to move across her body in the most delightful way. “But I did see something in a book that you might like…”

It was, she thought later as she laid next to him, thoroughly sated, hard to believe his liking books would pay off so marvelously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm open to suggestions about a sequel. I have some vague idea of scenes I'd like to do but not much in the way of plot as yet....


End file.
